


Thunderstruck

by Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 80's AU, Arena Rock AU, Explicit Language, F/M, Modern AU, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:26:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1980's AU.  Hair Metal/Arena Rock SanSan.  </p><p>Straight-laced and a yuppie in the making, Sansa is dragged to a metal concert by Arya and Gendry where she captures the eye of the guitarist of the band Cannibal Star.  Crude and lewd, Sandor is everything Sansa was certain she didn't want.  Even with this unlikely match, sparks fly and misadventures ensue as they try to get their two worlds to combine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thunderstruck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ADK_SanSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADK_SanSan/gifts).



> To ADK_SanSan:
> 
> After discussing our love of 80's/90's arena rock, we both agreed that we could see Sandor as an arena/metal rocker. This got my mind going and I decided that I had to write an 80's arena/metal rock SanSan fic! 
> 
> This is circa 1987 so be prepared for loads of 80's references (although I was only alive for a whopping four years in the '80's). 
> 
> Each chapter will get its title from an amazing hairband/rock/metal song from this time period.

**  
Thunderstruck**

  
Chapter One

* * *

“What’s the name of this band again?” Sansa asked for the umpteenth time, still only half paying attention as she flipped open her powder compact and applied a layer of sheer, cherry flavored lip gloss.  In a rainbow of rippling colors, the city lights were reflected on the Chicago River and cascaded by her as Sansa’s eyes flickered out the window of Gendry’s ’69 Firebird, his pride and joy. 

Arya sighed audibly in the front seat as she swiveled around to face Sansa, a look of utter annoyance plastered on her face.

“Cannibal Star! I’ve told you, like, five thousand times.” 

Her little sister, although hardly little anymore at sixteen years of age, rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but quickly conceded.  Sansa was doing her a tremendous favor, and Arya knew it.  In fact, she had begged and pleaded with Sansa to come and even offered to do Sansa’s chores for the next week if she agreed, just this once, to help her out. 

Last weekend, Arya had been caught, once again, sneaking out to meet up with Gendry, a boy her parents didn’t quite approve of.   Although three years older than Arya, Gendry was a nice guy and had a good job at the steel mill.  If he was a college student working hard to secure a future as a boring accountant or pompous Wall Street broker, Sansa doubted her parents would have had such a problem with him.  Even she had to admit it was a little unfair.  Either way, Arya’s rebelliousness had gotten her grounded despite Gendry having procured tickets and backstage passes to their favorite metal band. 

Their father had been adamant that Arya wouldn’t be allowed to go.  It was part of her punishment for not only breaking curfew but also sneaking out to meet up with Gendry.  Arya had whined and complained all week, slowly breaking down her parents’ resolve instead of quietly accepting her punishment, as Sansa was apt to do.  Per usual, their mother relented first after Arya had sucked up to her, buttering their mom up with compliments and help around the house until she agreed to discuss the matter with their father. 

He was harder to convince, but after a lengthy discussion between the parental unit, their father had begrudgingly conceded to letting Arya attend the concert under one condition:  Sansa had to go with Arya and Gendry, a chaperone of sorts, although she was only two years older than Arya.  Regardless, Sansa was the responsible daughter, always trying to politely follow the rules and make as little waves as possible.  Her reward for that was having to “escort” her sister to some stupid metal concert. 

“Did you have to dress like a goddamn yuppie?” Arya huffed as she stared at Sansa, looking mortified that she’d have to be seen with her prim and proper sister. 

Looking down for a cursory evaluation of her outfit, Sansa didn’t quite see what the problem was.  In fact, she thought she looked quite nice; even their mother had said so.  Sansa had chosen a pleated skirt in her favorite shade of baby blue, a sensible white blouse, and a soft pink sweater.  Perhaps tying the sweater around her neck was a bit much, but the night was bound to grow chilly and she didn’t want to be without something to cover up with.  Besides, who knew what sort of freak shows would be roaming around the place they were going.   She didn’t want to be too exposed. 

“Arya, I really wish you’d watch your mouth,” Sansa sighed as she tucked away her compact and lip gloss into her cross body purse.  “Did you two have to dress like Sid and Nancy?” she added as she motioned her head towards the front seat. 

“That’s quite a compliment.  Thanks, Sansa,” Gendry beamed as he caught Sansa’s eyes in the rear view mirror.  He had teased his hair almost as much as Arya, except his hair, much to Arya’s chagrin, was a few inches longer than hers and fell below his shoulders.  Sansa had had to stifle a laugh as she watched the two of them pass the Aqua Net back and forth while perfecting their coifs in Gendry’s bathroom mirror. 

“She didn’t mean it as a compliment, dummy!” Arya chided playfully as she whacked Gendry across the arm.  The boy responded by winking at her, and the two of them exchanged a laugh across the center console.  Sansa had to admit, they were a cute couple and she was happy for her sister.  Although her own relationship with Joff had gone to hell in a hand basket, Sansa held out hope that perhaps she’d find someone she could share a genuine connection with, as Arya shared with Gendry. 

Parking in downtown Chicago on a Friday night was an absolute nightmare, and Sansa groaned in frustration when Gendry finally parked the car on a side street about ten blocks away from the concert venue.   Killing the engine, Gendry shifted his eyes between Sansa and Arya. 

“Ladies, we’ll have to trek it through the mean streets of Chi-Town,” he declared with a grin before jumping from the car. 

_Let’s get this night over with,_ Sansa groaned internally before rolling her eyes and pushing the door open with a sigh.  She had never heard of Cannibal Star or whatever this band was called, but if it was anything like the music she had heard blaring from Arya’s walkman, Sansa knew she was going to hate it.  Conversely, Arya hated Sansa’s music too and was constantly making fun of her for singing along to her Madonna or Cyndi Lauper tapes.

    

After walking five blocks, Sansa regretted wearing the blue pumps Margaery lent her.  While the heel wasn’t particularly high, the leather around the sides was digging painfully into her skin, rubbing it raw with each step.  Ahead of her, Arya and Gendry were chatting excitedly as they rattled off all the songs they hoped were on the set list.    _“Gravedigger”, “The Hounds of Hell”, “Meat for the Butcher with the Sword”_ _._ Those had been but a few of the ones Sansa had overheard them gushing about.   After that, she had stopped listening and instead started an internal countdown of when this night would be over with.

As they neared the concert venue, Sansa could see people gathered in line outside, shifting restlessly from side to side while they waited for the doors to open.  Most were garbed in black from head to toe, hair teased wildly and with shit-kicking boots on their feet.  Even Arya looked the part with her torn up jeans over a pair of sheer black tights, leather cowboy boots, and a leather jacket which covered a tattered looking Cannibal Star T-shirt she had borrowed from Gendry, who was dressed almost identically to his girlfriend. 

Both Arya and Gendry seemed to have read Sansa’s mind as they stopped one block short of the venue. 

Shucking out of her leather jacket, Arya balled it up and shoved it towards Sansa. 

“You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.  Here.  Put this on before you get laughed out of the venue.” 

Hesitating, Sansa shot Gendry a pleading look. 

“This is, like, embarrassing to the max,” she whimpered. 

Whatever sympathy Sansa hoped to gain from Gendry was lost as he grasped her by the shoulders and gave a soft squeeze.    

“Sansa, you know I like you, but if you get laughed out of the building, Arya and I are going to have to pretend we don’t know you.  I busted my ass to get these backstage passes.”

By busted his ass, he meant incessantly calling into the local classic rock station while they were giving out tickets and backstage passes to the show.  As luck would have it, Gendry was eventually the one-hundredth caller and snagged the tickets he had spent so long rambling on about.  

“Yeah, yeah.  I get it,” Sansa sighed before loosening her Izod cardigan from around her neck and tying it firmly around her waist.  As she slipped into the heavy leather jacket, she had to admit it was warm and didn’t quite call so much attention to her as the sweater did.   Regardless, she’d hardly blend into the crowd and was bound to get stares anyway. 

The doors of the venue had just been opened as they approached, the concert goers howling and shouting out wildly with delight as they were slowly shuffled into the building.   By the time Sansa, Arya, and Gendry made it to the front of the line, the din of the crowd was already pouring through the doors, intermingling on the haze of cigarette smoke which cast the room in a dull, dingy glow. 

“I need to see some ID,” the heavyset bouncer abruptly barked out, appearing annoyed as he stared at the line which extended behind them and still wrapped around the building.  Sansa’s heart skipped a beat.  Arya was still a minor, and there was no way this no-nonsense bouncer was going to let her through.  As Sansa was about to turn to Arya with a feigned look of sympathy at having to call the night short, her sister nonchalantly produced an Illinois driver’s license with the picture of a woman Sansa did not recognize. 

Arya hardly seemed fazed, even as the bouncer shined a flash light on it and flickered his eyes up to study Arya’s face.  Handing the ID back, the bouncer let Arya through.  After showing her ID and being waved through, Sansa caught up with her sister.

“Since when do you have a fake ID?” Sansa asked incredulously, although it didn’t quite surprise her.

“Since I started dating a guy who knows a guy who makes kickass fake IDs,” Arya replied, seemingly satisfied with herself as she flashed a smile at Gendry who only shrugged his shoulders in return. 

The inside of the venue was a sea of writhing bodies, all packed in as close to the stage as possible.  The room was dimly lit with red lights glowing like embers from wall sconces.  Adjacent to the stage was a bar extending the length of the wall and manned by two individuals covered in tattoos and sporting severe scowls as they served up beverages to the rowdy crowd. 

Sansa scanned the room.  With their studded accessories, various articles of tight leather clothing, and teased out hair, every individual appeared as though they had just come off the set of a Judas Priest or Iron Maiden music video.  Even with the leather jacket, there was no hiding that Sansa didn’t belong here.  Tapping her sister on the shoulder to get her attention, Sansa pointed towards the wall opposite from the bar.

“I’m going to stand over there.”

“Sansa, come up front with Gendry and I,” Arya pleaded as she took Sansa’s hand and tried to pull her towards the crowd gathered in front of the stage. 

“Arya, no.  I really don’t want to,” Sansa whined as she pulled her hand away.  The last thing she wanted was to get caught up in a mosh pit and ruin her clothes.  Besides, her feet were killing her where the shoes had rubbed her raw. 

Rolling her eyes and growling out her frustration, Arya threw her hands up in the air.

“Fine!  Be a boring, yuppie prude, Sansa.  One of these days, I’m going to break you out of your shell.” 

Thankful that her sister relented, Sansa shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring the intermittent cat calls and lewd stares as she went.  She perched herself against the far wall and was surprised to find that she had a decent view of the stage, not that that mattered much.  Mindlessly, she picked at her nails, trying to occupy herself the best she could.  Her mind wandered to what she  _should_ be doing right now.  Margaery had invited her to Loras’ surprise birthday party, a fete which was being thrown at a swanky restaurant downtown and was courtesy of the Tyrell family’s extraordinary wealth.  Her friend had begged her to bail on Arya and spend the evening eating, drinking, and dancing the night away.  As much as Sansa would have rather attended Loras’ party, she didn’t have the heart to blow her sister off.  Besides, Joffrey was likely to be in attendance at the party, and Sansa wasn’t quite sure she was ready to be in the same room as him just yet. 

Her thoughts were swiftly interrupted as the sound of a bass drum reverberated through her chest, and the lights of the venue steadily lowered until the room was cast in complete darkness.  Everyone in the building seemed to simultaneously gasp before a hush fell over the crowd.  Clear as a bell, an undulating guitar riff sounded out over the speakers, eliciting cheers from the concert goers.  After a few bars of the riff, a low, guttural singing echoed through the room as the song slowed slightly in its tempo until the room fell silent again.  The energy of the building had turned electric, the crowd had steadily pushed forward, and tension seemed to rise as the silence wore on and smoke rippled across the stage. 

Once more, the bass drum pounded through the room along with two guitars, now dueling through complicated riffs.  As soon as the singer’s voice pierced through the darkness once more, lights flashed against the stage, illuminating the band as they seemed to emerge from the smoke.  The crowd broke into deafening cheers as the rhythm of the song picked up.  The room seemed to move in unison with the beat, rocking and swaying with each pound of the drums.  Standing on her tippy-toes, Sansa could see Gendry and Arya up front, their hair whipping to and fro as they head banged to the song. 

Sansa had been to concerts before, but never had she ever felt as though her ear drums might burst open.  The music was beyond deafening.  Sansa could hardly hear the thoughts in her own head as the song wore on and the crowd belted out every last word.  The lead singer sauntered around the stage clothed in quite possibly the tightest leather pants known to man.  Sansa imagined the singer had been sewn into them, and exhaled a laugh at the thought.  That was what she didn’t understand about this type of music; these men fancied themselves hard and tough yet wore clothes tighter than any woman would, and some even wore make up. 

Sizing up each member of the band, Sansa could see they fit the bill for most metal bands: obnoxious leather outfits, hair teased to the high heavens, and a few wearing heavy black eyeliner.  However, one band member stood out from the rest.  Situated on the right side of the stage nearest to the wall where Sansa was perched, this man’s form was lurking in the fleeting shadows of the stage. 

Her attention was drawn back to the lead singer as the song came to a gradual end.

“Thank you, Chicago!” the singer belted out in falsetto before laughing into the microphone.  “We’re happy to end this tour back in our hometown.  Make some noise for Cannibal Star!”

Before the singer could finish, the crowd erupted into more cheers as the next song set in, quickly drowning out the horde and beckoning a steady pressure to build in Sansa’s head.   Blessedly, the song began to slow after awhile, and the drums seemed to fall away a bit.  The musician who had been lurking in the shadows stepped forward, drawing the undivided attention of the crowd as he set into a wailing guitar solo. 

Mesmerized like all the rest, Sansa found herself staring at him.  He was quite possibly the tallest man she had ever seen, towering over his band mates who were by no means short in stature.  The black guitar was dwarfed in his hands, and yet he played with an intricate delicacy, his fingers moving deftly up and down the strings. 

Unlike all the others, his hair wasn’t teased, but instead fell in raven black waves past his shoulders.  With a curtain of hair around his face, Sansa couldn’t quite make out his features until his head fell back with eyes closed as he reached the climax of his solo.  His features were decidedly masculine: a strong jaw line, heavy brow, and hooked nose. 

Sansa felt the heat hit her cheeks as she took in the sight of him.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only tight fitting black leather pants paired with Doc Martens.  His chest and abdomen were a chiseled expanse of taut muscles which rippled beneath his skin.   Much like the rest of him, his arms were sculpted to perfection, his biceps and triceps defined in thick swathes of muscle.  Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off of him and instead found that her stare seemed magnetized towards him. 

The man opened his eyes as his solo waned behind the steady increase of drum beats.  Immediately, his gaze fell on Sansa, and she could have sworn he was staring straight at her.  She expected his eyes to roam away.  Surely, hers was just another face in the crowd, and that was if he could even make out any faces in the crowd.  However, his eyes remained glued to hers in a heavy stare as his hand continued to move up and down the guitar neck.   

Flustered, Sansa shifted her gaze over her shoulder, certain he had locked eyes with someone else.  Finding the space behind her empty, Sansa turned her attention forward once more.  The intensity of his stare was still on her, and now certain members of the crowd seemed to notice as they, much like she had, turned around to see who he was looking at.  Letting her eyes drift up to his, Sansa felt her lips part as she pulled in a shaky breath.  The corner of the man’s mouth pulled into a smug half-smile as he turned away.  With the left side of his face now visible, Sansa let out a gasp.  It was a disfigured mass of burned flesh extending from his forehead down to the middle of his cheek.  Locks of his black hair feebly covered perhaps the worst of it, but the effect was still horrifying. 

Turning around once more, the good side of the man’s face was now visible to Sansa again, and when his stare landed squarely on her, she couldn’t help but lower her eyes.  His scars were repulsive, that was for sure, but that wasn’t quite why she turned her stare away.  Swallowing hard, she felt a small fluttering sensation originate from the pit of her stomach.  She didn’t want him to keep staring at her, and yet when she lifted her eyes again and found he was no longer looking at her, Sansa felt a sliver of disappointment well up within her. 

For the remainder of the concert, Sansa watched him, but he never again returned her stare.  After a lengthy encore, the band retreated from the stage.  _Good.  We can go home now._ As Arya came bounding up to her, out of breath and covered in a layer of sweat, Sansa remembered the backstage passes and felt her temporary joy evaporate. 

“Fuck yeah, that was awesome!” Arya screeched, her voice hoarse from screaming and shouting along to the music. 

Gendry quickly fell in next to Arya, equally as out of breath yet looking as though he were on cloud nine.  

“Did you have a good time?” Gendry breathed as he gulped for air. 

Unbidden, Sansa’s mind flashed to images of the guitarist and the way he had been looking - no,  _staring_ \- at her.

“Yeah.  It wasn’t so bad, I guess,” she replied, although her head was pounding, and she could already tell her hair and clothes reeked like cigarette smoke. 

After a majority of the crowd cleared from the building, Sansa followed behind Arya and Gendry as they were led by one of the band aides down a hallway and towards what Sansa imagined was “backstage”.   As they approached the door, Gendry turned an apologetic stare towards Sansa.

“We only have two backstage passes.  I’m sorry, kiddo,” Gendry murmured regretfully, although Sansa found herself relieved by the news.   _What if I run into that guitarist? No, I don’t want that._

“That’s fine,” Sansa assured Gendry and Arya with a smile.  “I’ll just wait out here.  Have fun.”  

As the two disappeared behind the door labeled  _Employees Only_ , Sansa headed down the hallway a bit further towards an exit door.  A bit of fresh air sounded a lot better than hanging out with a bunch of greasy, hairy metal dudes anyway.  As she was about to push through the door, Sansa heard loud squeals coming from the other end of the corridor.  Turning over her shoulder, she saw a group of girls heading towards the backstage area.  With short skirts, high heels, and pounds of make up on, each one seemed more scantily clad than the next.  Rolling her eyes, Sansa abruptly pushed through the door and hurried through, barreling into someone as she stepped outside.  Tripping on her heels, Sansa began careening forward towards the ground until two hands reached out and gripped her firmly on her upper arms. 

 “I’m sorry!” Sansa exclaimed on a breathy exhale as she spun around.  Her eyes were met with a man’s broad chest, and as she lifted her eyes, Sansa realized her body was flush with the guitarist from the band. 

“You’re shaking.  Do I frighten you that much, girl?” the man growled on a deep voice, the timbre seeming to match his size. 

“N-no,” Sansa stammered as she lowered her eyes and tried to wriggle from his grasp but to no avail.  “You just startled me is all.”  It was a lie.  His size was intimidating, and his face was gruesome. 

Letting go of her arms, the man barked out a rough laugh as he settled himself to sit on the small set of stairs leading to the ground below. 

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” he remarked, equal parts bitter and amused.  Sansa saw that he now had a black T-shirt on and a pair of torn up blue jeans. 

She eyed the staircase he was sitting on and swallowed hard as she realized she would have gone tumbling down it had he not caught her.  Sitting with the unburned side of his face visible to her, the guitarist took a long pull on a bottle of whiskey he had in his hand.  She wondered if he was drunk, a thought which immediately filled her with dread.  She didn’t know this man, and they were alone outside together.  Stepping away from him slightly, Sansa pressed her back against the wall extending adjacent from the man. 

“You played very well tonight,” Sansa spoke after a heavy silence had settled between them.  She didn’t quite know why she felt compelled to say that.  It’s not as if she owed this man a conversation or anything.

Once more, the man laughed; this time it was short and mirthless. 

 “As if you would know,” the man mumbled as he stared out towards the parking lot that extended behind the building. “Did you get separated from the rest of the groupies?”

“I’m not a groupie!” Sansa blurted out, offended that he would even think that of her. “My sister and her boyfriend had backstage passes.  I’m waiting on them.” 

Turning a stare towards her, the man let his eyes flicker up and down her body, stilling Sansa’s breath with each pass and making her wish she could just melt into the wall to disappear. 

“And you didn’t want to go back there with them? A pretty little thing like you would’ve made it backstage just fine without a pass,” the man mused as he continued to leer openly at her with a not-so-subtle half-smile pulling across the ruined side of his mouth. 

“This isn’t really my scene,” Sansa replied as she pulled the leather jacket tight around her.  When the man averted his gaze away from her, she let go of a breath she’d been holding. 

“I can see that.  I imagine you’d rather be at the mall, maxing out daddy’s credit card, yeah?”

He was mocking her, Sansa knew.  He assumed she was a certain type of girl, probably one of those Valley girls from California who were vapid and self-absorbed.  The thought stung, although she didn’t know why. 

 “Why aren’t you back there with your band mates and the groupies?” Sansa shot back, hoping that he’d realize he was missing out and head back inside to leave her in peace. 

“Not my scene,” the man countered smugly as he turned an intense stare towards her.  “Although, I’ll probably fuck one of those groupies later.  We’ll see how the night goes,” he added with a shrug of his shoulders as Sansa’s mouth fell open.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, though, by the looks of you.”  

If the condescension in his words wasn’t infuriating enough, the implication was downright vulgar and none of his damn business besides.  He was making her nervous, and Sansa toyed with the idea of turning around to go back inside.  She could make something up about being cold or wanting to check on her sister; it would be that simple.  However, she found herself rooted where she was. 

“You’re vile,” Sansa retorted as she shifted her glare towards the parking lot.  This was the perfect ending to a perfectly awful night. 

“And you’re a prude,” the man jeered without hesitation. “You need to loosen up a bit.  Here.”  Holding out his arm, the man offered her the bottle of whiskey, his eyes matched to hers in a heavy gaze. 

Instead of looking away or averting her eyes, Sansa kept his stare and noticed for the first time that his eyes were pale grey in color. 

“No, thank you,” she murmured as butterflies inexplicably fluttered in her stomach.   Licking her lips, Sansa finally broke the stare after it had lasted a handful of seconds longer than any normal glance should. 

“Suit yourself,” the man replied as he set the bottle down and leaned back with his elbows resting on the top step.  Craning his neck up to look at her, the man once more seemed to be appraising her.

“You look like that red-headed broad.  Can’t think of her name,” he noted.

Sighing, Sansa rolled her eyes.  Ever since  _“I Think We’re Alone Now”_ came out, she was constantly getting compared to the red-headed pop star.    

“Tiffany? I look nothing like her,” Sansa groaned, her typical reply.  Somehow she found herself more annoyed than usual by the comparison.  She didn’t like the way he had assumed that all she did was hang out at the mall, spend her dad’s money, and try to emulate Tiffany. 

Sensing her annoyance, the man laughed, and Sansa imagined he was about to fire back some mocking jab at her. 

“You’re right.  You’re a hell of a lot cuter than her, but that’s not who I was talking about.” 

Sansa felt her cheeks burning hot and the butterflies seemed to turn molten in her stomach as the heat spread throughout her body.  After a long silence, the man snapped his fingers. 

 “Tawny Kitaen. That’s who you look like,” the man explained after the realization seemed to suddenly dawn on him. 

Initially, the name didn’t ring a bell until Sansa remembered the latest Whitesnake video and the buxom redhead doing the splits on top of a Jaguar.  Just when she thought the blush to her cheeks couldn’t get any deeper, Sansa felt a wave of embarrassment hit her.

Measuring her reaction with an amused smile, the man stared up at Sansa.  This time it was he who licked his lips. 

“Just sayin’.  If you ever want to roll around on the hood of my Mustang in a skimpy dress, I wouldn’t exactly stop you.”

As the man broke into laughter, Sansa shook her head and was surprised to find a small laugh escape her own lips. 

“I think I’ll pass,” she responded.  When another silence dragged between them, Sansa fumbled with the sleeves of the jacket, clutching the ends tightly in her palms. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, wondering if he might be offended she didn’t already know.  Surely, this gave her away.  She wasn’t an adoring fan who already knew his name and everything else about him. 

Somehow this seemed to strike a chord within him as he looked up at her with another half smile, although there was nothing bawdy about this particular one.  Instead, there was a bit of appreciation to it. 

“The Hound,” he offered, his voice gruff and dark. 

“No, your real name,” Sansa pushed, assuming he had more than likely given her his stage name. 

“My real name doesn’t matter, not unless you plan on moaning it later while I’m in top of you.”  

Immediately, he swiveled his head up towards her, his mouth curled into a devilish smile and contorting his scars in a hideous manner.  Initially, all Sansa could do was gasp in response.   _Why does he have to be so crude?_ Pouting, Sansa looked away.   _Why are you still standing out here if he’s so crude?_  The question lingered in her mind, and she didn’t quite have the answer. 

“I’m sorry.  That was really uncalled for,” the Hound conceded sincerely.  Satisfied with an apology, Sansa took slow steps towards the edge of the staircase and seated herself next to him.  Turning a guilty stare towards her, the Hound matched her eyes in earnest. 

“I should have been more considerate.  If it means that much to you, you can be on top instead.”

With her mouth agape and her eyes widening to the size of saucers, Sansa felt a blush creeping down her cheeks and neck towards her chest.  He was lewd, and no one had ever talked to her like this before.  Unbidden, an image of her straddling him flashed across her mind.  Sansa shook her head to erase the thought as quickly as possible.  Never would she  _ever_ do anything like that with a man like the Hound.  

The Hound erupted into loud laughter, clutching his side as confusion pooled on Sansa’s face. 

“It was a joke,” he exhaled, elbowing her gently.  The contact between them, brief as it was, caused Sansa’s breath to catch in her throat.  “Lighten up a bit.”

Sighing her relief, although she was still troubled about her previous thought of straddling this man, Sansa settled back a bit and released the tension in her body.  Timidly, she extended her hand out to him. 

“My name’s Sansa,” she spoke softly, somehow feeling shy as she let her eyes settle on his. 

“Sansa,” he repeated as he accepted her hand.  She noticed his gaze flickered to her lips momentarily before returning back to her eyes. 

“My name’s Sandor,” he replied, his hand still wrapped around hers.  Although his hand was rough, his skin was warm against hers, and the sensation was rather pleasant. 

“Nice to meet you, Sandor.”  His stare had wandered to her lips again, she noticed, as if he had been studying the way his name curled around her tongue and mouth.  Maybe he didn’t notice, or perhaps he did, but he was still holding her hand. 

Behind them, the door busted open, and Sansa abruptly pulled her hand away from the Hound’s.  A fresh wave of embarrassment hit her as Arya and Gendry stood there, both of their eyes shifting back and forth between Sansa and the Hound.  Standing up and brushing off her skirt, Sansa felt as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have.   _All I did was shake his hand…_

“There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you,” Arya chided before turning towards the Hound. 

“You fucking rocked tonight!  I think I have whiplash from all the headbanging I did,” Arya beamed rather uncharacteristically.  Gendry had fallen silent next to her, apparently star struck by his guitar idol.  Now that Sansa thought about it, she vaguely remembered him going on and on about the Hound and the way he could shred on the guitar. 

“I…I…wow! You’re just…you’re like my idol, man,” Gendry stammered as the Hound stood up, towering over all three of them. 

“Thanks, man.  We’ve got band practice next week if you’re interested in stopping by,” the Hound responded as he crossed his arms about his broad chest. 

Paling and appearing as though he had just seen a flying saucer blaze across the sky, Gendry’s mouth fell open as he nodded his head frantically.

“Yes! Jesus titty-fucking Christ, yes! That would be…holy shit…that’d be incredible,” Gendry all but shouted.  For a moment, Sansa thought he might hug the Hound for how gleeful he was in this moment. 

Grasping Arya by the shoulders, Gendry shook her, perhaps a bit too hard as Arya stumbled forward.

“Can I bring my girlfriend too?”

Settling his eyes on Sansa, the Hound smiled. 

“As long as she brings her sister.” 

Turning towards Gendry now, the Hound gave him an address and time before striding back inside, stopping at the door as he swiveled his head over his shoulder and gave Sansa a wink and a smile.  


	2. Rock Me

**Thunderstruck**

  
**  
**Chapter Two

_"You ain't so innocent, I know  
I know your heart's like mine, oh yeah  
And I will find the time to make you mine"_

  
_-_ _Rock Me_ , Great White

* * *

“Are you going to tell me what you and the Hound talked about?”

Arms crossed and foot tapping, Arya was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom she and Sansa shared.  She hadn’t changed into her pajamas yet, and her hair was still a wild nest of teased hair. 

What had she and the Hound - no, _Sandor_ \- talked about?  Beyond introducing themselves to each other, their conversation had consisted mostly of sexual innuendos on his part and an embarrassed silence on hers.  Sansa’s cheeks started to flush at the thought. 

“Nothing,” Sansa replied nonchalantly as she pulled her hair back into a neon green scrunchie.  She wasn’t exactly lying to her sister, per se.  Rather, she was excluding a majority of the details, which were inconsequential anyway. 

“You didn’t talk about nothing with him! Clearly, Gendry and I were interrupting a moment between the two of you.  Tell me what he said!”

Half of the car ride back home, Gendry and Arya had been squealing and gushing about their backstage experience which had been eclipsed by their invitation to Cannibal Star’s band practice.  Immediately, the two of them had set in on relaying the events of the evening and planning what to wear to the band practice. 

In a daze in the backseat, Sansa too had ruminated on the events of the evening,, but in the solitude of her own mind.  To remember the things Sandor had said to her was mortifying.  Had Joffrey or anyone else been so brazen, Sansa would have likely been scandalized and thoroughly offended.  However, she couldn’t help the lingering of butterflies she felt fluttering around in her stomach at the thought of his words and the way he had looked at her.  

She felt light headed, and although she hated to admit it, perhaps a bit giddy too.  With her silence drawing attention to her, Gendry and Arya had all at once remembered that they found Sansa outside and alone with the Hound.  A deluge of questions came pouring from the front seat of the car as Arya and Gendry each, in turn, grilled her.  _What did he say? What did you say? What was he like? Why was he holding your hand? Why were you looking at him like that? Were you about to kiss him? Why didn’t you let him kiss you?_

Sansa had remained tight-lipped about the whole experience and merely glazed over their questions with one-word answers or a shrug of her shoulders.  Truth be told, there wasn’t much to tell.  Regardless, the questions got her mind going as she pondered the answers. 

_He said I was a hell of a lot cuter than Tiffany and that he wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to roll around on the hood of his car.  I said he was vile.  He was crude and inappropriate.  He was holding my hand because neither of us made the move to pull away.  I wouldn’t have kissed him first, no.  Was he about to kiss me? And would I have let him?_

Those questions remained unanswered for now.  Sansa doubted he would have kissed her, and even if he did, it would have been awkward.  She didn’t even know the guy, and she certainly wasn’t the type of girl who just kissed random men from metal bands. _Yes.  Awkward.  I wouldn’t have let him kiss me._

Splashing her face with tepid water, Sansa scrubbed off her makeup as Arya loitered in the doorway. 

“Will you at least come to the band practice with Gendry and I?” Arya begged.  It seemed this was the singular question she wanted answered tonight. 

After toweling off her face and pulling her hair free of the scrunchie, Sansa turned towards her sister who was looking expectantly at her, lip pouted in a ridiculous fashion. 

“When is it?” Sansa queried, the fluttering reemerging unexpectedly.   

“Tuesday at 7pm, downtown.  Gendry can take us.” 

Sansa perused her planned engagements for the coming days in her head.  There was the Tri Delta homecoming committee meeting which she promised Margaery she would be at.  Beyond that, the beginning of her week was more or less open.

Despite her hair sticking up in all directions and her eyeliner smeared across her eyelids, Arya was hard to say no to in this moment. 

“Fine.  I’ll go,” Sansa agreed as she flicked off the bathroom light and pushed past Arya.

“Aha! I knew it! Something happened between you and the Hound.  This was a trap, you see.  You would never in a _million_ years say yes otherwise.  Tell me what happened!” Arya squealed as she skipped down the hall after Sansa, content to continue the tortuous nagging of details.

“Nothing happened, Arya!” Sansa groaned with a fair amount of frustration lacing her words. “I talked to the guy.  That was all.  I introduced myself, I shook his hand, he shook mine, and that was it.  You’re totally blowing this out of proportion.”

Arya was quick on Sansa’s heels into the room they also shared.  The room seemed divided down the middle.  Sansa’s side was decorated in soft pastel colors, and her clothes were neatly organized in drawers with her makeup and hair accessories situated in orderly rows on top of her dresser.  Arya’s side of the room was a disaster, and had once been the same color as Sansa’s until she plastered over the walls with posters of various metal bands, one of which happened to be Cannibal Star.  Now that Sansa noticed the poster, she couldn’t stop looking at it, or rather Sandor, in particular.  Arya must have followed Sansa’s eyes, although she could have sworn her glance was fleeting.

“Oh this is rich! Would you like me to hang it above your bed?” Arya taunted before pretending to faint on her own bed.  “And then you can stare at it all night long.  _‘Oh, Hound! Kiss me, my Hound.’”_   At that, Arya pulled a pillow to her face and began obnoxiously emulating kissing sounds. 

“Good night, Arya,” Sansa replied with finality before climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head. 

She waited until she heard Arya retreat to the bathroom before peaking her head out from under the covers.  Curiosity pulled her stare towards the poster.  On the far left, Sandor stood with his band members, a serious scowl on his face and the muscles of his chest and abdomen visible despite the leather vest he wore.  His scars were visible as well, and Sansa imagined what they might feel like.  Sandor wasn’t particularly handsome, not in the traditional sense at least.  He did not possess the delicate symmetry to his facial features as many of the other boys she knew did.  In fact, all symmetry was lost due to his scars, which were hideous in their own right.  However, he was strong, built like a Roman god, and there was something intriguing about his bluntness, the way he said what he meant and meant what he said.

As she heard the water of the sink turn off, Sansa switched off the bed side lamp and turned away from Arya’s side of the room and the poster of Cannibal Star.  _Maybe I would have let him kiss me…_

With that thought Sansa closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

 

The weekend had dissolved away as they always did - consumed by massive amounts of homework and the occasional social outing in between.  As a sophomore in the pre-veterinary program at Northwestern, Sansa couldn’t afford to fall behind and relinquish her dreams of attending veterinary school. 

With those thoughts fueling her studying, Sansa had flicked on her _Purple Rain_ tape, spread out on her bed, and powered through the assignments she had delegated for the weekend.  It had left little time for socializing though, and Sansa couldn’t help but let her eyes drift now and then towards the Cannibal Star poster above Arya’s bed as she had studied.       

Taking the stairs two at a time, Sansa made it to the third floor of the University Center, out of breath and wheezing despite being in decent physical shape.  Any day now, the Jane Fonda workout tapes Margaery insisted on forcing Sansa to do with her would pay off.   As she approached the meeting room, Sansa checked her bright pink swatch for the millionth time.  She was late.  Not a few minutes late where she could slip in and go unnoticed as her sorority sisters swapped the latest gossip from their weekend outings.  She was massively late. 

After picking Bran up from baseball practice and dropping him off at home, Sansa had rushed to get back on campus before the homecoming committee meeting started.  She would have been on time except the hunk of junk 1972 Volvo she drove had given her trouble, the engine refusing to turn over until it was good and ready.  It hadn’t been good and ready until Sansa was already running five minutes behind. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Sansa pushed the door of the meeting room open as quietly as she could.  Although speaking at the front of the room, Margaery’s eyes flicked towards Sansa as she sunk into a chair at the end of the long meeting table. 

“This year we’re paired with Sigma Chi,” Margaery declared authoritatively, brown curls framing her heart-shaped face as her lips curled into their distinctive smile.  “The boys will give each of us a white rose, and in return, we’ll give them pansies, seeing as how these are our respective flowers.” 

Quietly, Sansa pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her bag.  If she was going to be late, she at least needed to take notes to save face.  Margaery was in her senior year, and as president of the sorority, was already grooming Sansa to be her successor, although Sansa thought Dany was better suited for the position than she was. 

“Myranda and I were thinking _‘Pretty in Pink’_ should be the theme this year,” Margaery announced, eliciting squeals from all the girls.  “Everything will be decorated in shades of pink, and all the girls will have to wear pink along with a strand of pearls.  We’ll have to start busting ass to get the decorations done.  I’m passing around a sign-up sheet.  I want each of you to sign up for a weekend where you’ll be on decoration duty.  No socializing, no studying.  Just decorations.”

Sansa groaned internally.  While she enjoyed being in a sorority, she sometimes wondered where the other girls found time to dedicate _entire_ weekends to making decorations or planning events.  Margaery was studying interior design, a pursuit she would promptly drop as soon as she landed a rich husband.  Beyond that, she was a socialite.  Her education was more of a placeholder until she had a ring on her finger. 

Eventually, the sound of Margaery’s voice fell away as Sansa doodled mindlessly on her blank sheet of paper. 

“…we want it to be elegant, but fun...” she heard against the backdrop of her thoughts. 

With her head stuck in her books over the weekend, Sansa had been able to preoccupy her mind and stave off the tiny, meandering thoughts that would slowly creep towards the front of her mind. 

_‘_ _If you ever want to roll around on the hood of my mustang in a skimpy dress, I wouldn’t exactly stop you.’_

She had actually laughed at that and so had he.  He drove a Mustang.  She knew hardly anything about him beyond his name, the type of car he drove, and that he was in a band.  With such little information about him, why was he invading her thoughts in these quiet moments?  There was something about him, although Sansa couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  She would never in a million years go for a guy like that.  _Never._ So why on earth couldn’t she just forget about it?

“…her cousin said he would DJ, but I really think I’d rather have the guy Arianne knows…”

Margaery was still droning on.  Sansa counted the girl as one of her dearest friends, but she wasn’t quite in the mood for this.  Weeks ago, she had been ecstatic about being included in the homecoming planning committee.  Now…well, now it just seemed tedious. 

Suddenly, the white noise of Margaery’s voice dropped off, and when Sansa lifted her gaze, she found all eyes were on her.

“Sansa, are you listening?” Margaery inquired, hands on her hips with her head cocked to the side and lips pursed.   

“Of course.  Pink, Arianne’s DJ, elegant and fun.”  Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Sansa was certain she was missing something, a fact that was all but confirmed as Mya gave a small shake of her head. 

“Tomorrow night we’re going to Oak Brook to look for our dresses,” Margaery sighed with a roll of her eyes.  “Will you be joining us?”

Although this was an apparently impromptu shopping trip, Sansa knew she shouldn’t refuse.  However, tomorrow was the night she was supposed to see _him_ again.  It hadn’t been an invitation in the traditional sense, but he had effectually declared he wanted to see her there at his band’s practice.  While Sansa doubted Sandor would turn Arya away if she showed up sans her sister, she knew Arya would be disappointed if Sansa bailed on her.  All eyes were on her once more as Sansa continued the debate within the confines of her own mind.  She had already been late to the meeting, and it was now clear she had hardly been listening throughout the rest of it.  _You’re in no position to refuse.  You didn’t exactly accept Sandor’s offer.  You already did Arya a favor by going to the concert with her.  She’ll just have to get over it._   

The matter was settled, and yet Sansa felt a tinge of disappointment ripple through her. 

“Well?” Margaery pressed as Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but words didn’t quite come.

“I can’t,” she blurted out against all reasoning.  “I have something else going on.”

Despite Margaery’s smile, Sansa could tell the girl was disappointed, both as her friend and as the president of the sorority.  _Stupid, Sansa! Stupid.  And for what? To watch some crude metalhead at his band practice._ She was already regretting this decision. 

“What else do you have going on?” Jeyne inquired, although Sansa could tell it had nothing to do with innocent curiosity.  Sansa bit her lip as she leveled an irritated stare at Jeyne adjacent to her. 

“Just a thing,” she responded perhaps a bit too curtly.  If the girls weren’t interested before, they were now, as the rest of them now turned inquisitive eyes towards Sansa. 

“If it’s _‘just a thing’_ then tell us,” Arianne probed with a wicked smile.  Of all the girls, of course she would be the one to belabor the issue, probably having somehow sniffed out that this had something to do with a man. 

“I’m hanging out with my sister,” Sansa declared as she steadied her voice.  By the heat she felt creeping across her forehead and cheeks, Sansa could tell she was flushed.  She wasn’t exactly lying.  She would be hanging out with Arya.  And Gendry.  And Sandor too. 

“Yeah, I’m so sure!” Jeyne huffed sardonically. “You never hang out willingly with your sister.”

Having known Jeyne all her life, Sansa should have guessed she’d be the one to call her out.  It wasn’t until Sansa left for college that she and Jeyne had stopped with the merciless rotation of snarky nicknames for Arya. 

“Can we just drop it?” Sansa groaned.  Despite being one of her oldest friends, Jeyne had a real talent for being a pain in the ass sometimes.    

“Is this about Joff?” Margaery prodded, apparently glossing over Sansa’s request to put the topic of discussion to rest. “Sansa, I thought we _all_ agreed he was terrible for you.”

It was true.  Sansa had gotten an earful from every last one of her sorority sisters after her last spat with Joffrey.  The bruise across her cheek administered by Boros had faded away, but the events leading up to it still resonated with her. 

“It’s not about Joff!” Sansa snapped.  She was growing sincerely exhausted by people suggesting she was still hung up on him and treating her like she was some fragile thing. 

He was controlling and jealous by nature, absurd considering Sansa knew very well he had been seen with other girls while they were still together.  He was arrogant, sadistic, and manipulative.  She could not wrap her head around why _anyone_ would consider her stupid enough to actually be mourning the end of that relationship. 

Sensing Sansa’s unease, Margaery adjourned the meeting.  The other girls chattered gleefully about the homecoming mixer with Sigma Chi as they gathered up their belongings and filed out of the room. 

Sansa tucked her doodled sheet of paper into her bag along with her pencil and stood from her chair.  The room had cleared, save for her and Margaery.  She half-expected to hear an earful about being late and skipping out on the dress shopping excursion.  It was not as if Margaery Tyrell ever got cross with someone, but she did have a way of conveying her disappointment with a smile still gracing her lips. 

“Don’t forget to sign up for a decorations shift,” Margaery urged gently as she handed Sansa the clipboard.  Taking it from the girl’s hand, Sansa saw only two weekends were open, the others having filled up already.  She scribbled her name down, committing the date to her memory as she reminded herself to write it down later. 

Together, the two girls retreated from the room and headed down the stairs of the University Center. 

“Are you alright?” Margaery softly inquired after silence stretched between them.  Her words weren’t probing, but instead Sansa could decipher the concern in the girl’s voice. 

“I’m fine,” she assured as they headed outside and made their way towards the parking lot.  “I’m sorry for being late.  And sorry I can’t make it tomorrow.”

“No need to apologize,” Margaery responded with a warm smile.  “When you do go shopping for your dress, I’ll go with you, and then we can catch up.”

Sansa smiled in return as relief seemed to break through the tension.   

“I’d like that.  School’s totally sucked lately.” 

Fumbling for her keys in her purse, Sansa stopped at her car and lifted her eyes to Margaery, ready to bid the girl goodnight, but instead found her smiling devilishly in return.    

“I have the scoop on something, but you can’t tell anyone I told you this,” Margaery all but gushed as she lowered her voice slightly. 

“At Loras’ birthday party, Harold Hardyng asked Myranda if it was true that you and Joff split.  After she told him you two were done, he said ‘That’s good news,’ smiled, and then he walked away.  I think he’s planning on asking you out!”  With a squeal, Margaery gave a little bounce as she waited for Sansa’s response. 

Tall, with thick waves of sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a chiseled physique, Harold Hardyng was undeniably handsome.  Even before she and Joffrey broke up, Sansa had caught him cutting leering looks at her during various Sigma Chi events.  He was in the same fraternity as Joff, and Sansa often wondered how her then-boyfriend never noticed Harry checking her out.  Or maybe Joffrey had noticed but didn’t care as he preoccupied himself with hitting on her sorority sisters.

“Well don’t look too excited or anything!” Margaery giggled as she cocked her head to the side.  “He’s gorgeous, and his family is loaded to boot!”

It was true.  Harry was a trust fund baby and hailed from a high-society upbringing, much like Margaery had.  His father was a genius when it came to investments, and it was widely known that Harry was set up for life.   Prior to dating Joffrey, Sansa would have been thrilled to pieces for having caught the eye of someone like Harry.  In fact, she _had_ caught the eye of someone like Harry.  She had caught Joffrey’s eye and thought she had found exactly what she wanted.  Her dreams had been dashed, as Joffrey turned out to be a royal prick. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa responded with a furrowed brow as she shook her head.  “I don’t know how I feel about dating another guy from our circle.  I’m sort of over it, you know?  I think I just want to be single for awhile.

“I understand,” Margaery replied with a shrug of the shoulders.  “He won’t be on the market for long though, Sansa.  I’d jump at the chance if I were you.” 

With that, Margaery pulled Sansa in for a hug and waved goodbye as she headed for her BMW. 

Sansa climbed into the old Volvo and said a little prayer before turning the engine.  The heavens must have been listening, as the car fired up with no coaxing.  As she drove home, Sansa made yet another mental note to have the car looked at and sometime soon. 

* * *

 

“The timing belt is shot,” Sandor informed the old woman flatly.  She had been a customer for years at the auto repair shop he worked at, and for years he had been telling her to get her fucking timing belt replaced before it crapped out on her.  The woman’s older model Buick LeSabre was a pile of junk at this point, totaled all because she was a stubborn old broad. 

With mistrustful eyes, the old woman bristled as she glared up at Sandor, whose shift had ended fifteen minutes ago.   His eyes flickered towards the clock once more, his jaw clenched tightly as he sucked in a deep breath.  He didn’t mind working late and certainly didn’t complain about the extra boost to his paycheck.  However, he hated being late regardless of what engagement occupied his schedule.  Today it happened to be band practice. 

Sensing his rising annoyance, Barristan patted him on the back. 

“I’ll take care of it,” the man murmured as he pushed past Sandor and rested his palms on the countertop of the front desk.  “Mrs. Harris, Sandor is one of my best mechanics.  If he says the timing belt is shot, then the timing belt is shot.” 

Sandor slipped away as the old broad argued with his boss and the owner of the shop.  Shaking his head as he snatched up his jacket and bike helmet, Sandor snorted a laugh.  _Better him than me._

Barristan Selmy had the patience of a saint.  He had owned his auto parts and repair shop for as long as Sandor could remember.  The man even tolerated Sandor’s intermittent leaves when he went on tour.  Certain he wouldn’t have a job to come back to when he returned to Chicago, Sandor was always surprised when Barristan allowed him to pick up some shifts.  _‘A mechanic with your skill and expertise is worth three of these mediocre guys I’ve got working for me,’_ had been the man’s reasoning.  Sandor wasn’t one to argue with him on that point, and instead gratefully picked up whatever shifts he could. 

In the small bathroom, Sandor washed as much of the grease off his hands as he could with a perfunctory rinse.  The rest would have to remain for now along with smudges that were on his face.  He didn’t have time to wash it off, and even if he did, he imagined he didn’t give a shit.  He threw on his black leather jacket as he pushed through the back door of the shop, now twenty minutes behind schedule. 

Outside, the sun was setting as he strapped on his helmet and climbed on the back of his Harley.  For being the middle of September, the air had a decided chill to it, the promise of an early fall. 

Despite rush-hour having long been over, navigating the streets of downtown Chicago was a pain in the ass.  The practice spot was a mere eight miles from Selmy’s auto shop, and yet the drive took damn near a half hour as Sandor seemed to hit every stoplight along the way. 

Sandor flew into the parking lot behind the practice spot, quickly parking his bike when he saw that Beric and Thoros’ cars were already there. 

The practice spot was in a seedier part of town, hardly the most crime-riddled area of the city, but also not the most desirable either.  It was a loft space situated above the Kettleblack’s pub - a joint which was a hole in the wall, but seemed well-known in the metal scene.  Bands that played here usually went on to get wider recognition from the Chicago music scene, and in Cannibal Star’s case, a record deal with a metal-oriented label.  Osney had thought to expand the pub to the second level, but soon abandoned that idea when Beric had explained that they needed a set practice space in Chicago for the down time in between tours.  The Kettleblack brothers were all too eager to accommodate Cannibal Star so long as they agreed to play shows at their pub while in town. 

In hurried paces, Sandor pushed through the back door of the pub, passing by the open door of Osney’s office as he made his way down the hall towards the staircase.

“Clegane!” he heard Osney shout out to him.  Stopping, Sandor considered whether or not to ignore the man.  He was already late, a few seconds to see what Osney wanted wasn’t going to make much of a difference.  Heading back down the hall, Sandor hovered in the doorway to Osney’s office. 

“I’m running late.  This better be important,” he grumbled. 

The man settled back in his seat and motioned his head towards the staircase with an impish smile.  Sandor hated that smile.  He tolerated Osney well enough, but something about the man rubbed him the wrong way. 

“You’ve got a little entourage waiting for you upstairs.” 

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man, still not understanding what the fuck he was talking about.  Sensing his confusion, Osney clarified.

“A guy by the name of Gendry.  Swears you extended the invitation personally.  His girlfriend is here too.”

Sandor scanned his memories from the recent days.  _Gendry.  Gendry.  Who the fuck is Gendry?_

Shaking his head, the name didn’t ring any bells. 

“What about the red-headed girl? Pretty face, tight body, nice legs.”  The man was smirking as he swiveled in his chair. 

At once, the remembrance flooded Sandor’s mind.  He had been well into a bottle of whiskey when he extended the invitation to this particular band practice, and only now did the memory become fully fledged.  Sandor remembered the girl, though, and was surprised to find he even remembered her name.  _Sansa._

“Fuck,” Sandor breathed, shaking his head.  “Alright thanks.”  With that, he strode down the hall, bike helmet in hand and jacket thrown over his arm.  Heading up the stairs, Sandor could hear the faint sound of Bronn tuning his guitar while Harwin thumbed a few notes on his bass. 

As he entered the open space of the upstairs loft, Sandor was met with disappointed looks from his band mates.  Twirling the microphone cord around his hand, Beric had been pacing and raised his eyebrows as Sandor tossed down his bike helmet and jacket to the floor.

“You’re late, man,” he chided as Sandor made for his Les Paul set up in the corner.  From the periphery of his vision, he caught a glimpse of vibrant red hair.  From what he remembered of the girl, he wouldn’t have guessed she would _actually_ come to his practice.  In fact, he remembered now that she said that metal wasn’t her scene. 

“I work, Dondarrion.  Unlike the rest of you, I keep a fucking job outside of this,” Sandor countered, irritated as he lifted his guitar and positioned the strap across his shoulder.   Bronn had been staring at him, and when Sandor finally returned the stare, the man waggled his eyebrows and gave a small nod of his head in the direction of his supposed “entourage”. 

Before Sandor could say anything, Thoros began the beat for a few measures, and Beric set in with his signature falsetto wailing which preceded a good many of their songs.  Sandor’s gaze was averted as his feet pressed against the various pedals on the floor to distort the sound appropriately. 

When he did finally lift his eyes, he saw the three of them standing against the opposite wall.  With a start, the memories continued to find their place at the front of his mind.  There was the guy, Gendry, who looked absolutely star-struck right now as his head bobbed up and down with the rhythm of Thoros’ beat.  Sandor remembered when he had been that way - enamored with the accolades and lifestyle of rock stars.  Only now that he was living the “dream” did Sandor realize what a fucking fraud it all was. 

Then there was the shorter girl with brown hair seemingly enjoying herself as much as Gendry, although Sandor didn’t quite remember her name. 

What he did remember was that she was the sister of the red-headed girl, Sansa.  With big, piercing blue eyes staring back at him, the girl looked like a deer caught in headlights.  Her pouty, perfectly pink lips parted as she watched his hands move up and down the neck of his guitar.  As the girl seemed to blush and drop her gaze, Sandor took the opportunity to take in the sight of her body.  With an off the shoulder crop top shirt and a high-wasted skirt, a sliver of the girl’s midriff was visible along with the length of her legs.  _A tight body indeed._ She didn’t look like most of the broads that hung around the band.  She looked like a good girl, the kind you take home to your mother; not the kind already corrupted by spending time in the music scene. 

In the nights after their initial meeting, Sandor had taken himself in hand, stroking the length of his hardened cock to the hazy memory of the long expanse of her legs, the swell of her breasts feebly hidden in her blouse, the fullness of her lips, the way she blushed furiously at each lewd and drunken remark he had made.  She should have decked him, and Sandor was a bit surprised she hadn’t; a little prep like her, surely she’d have a stick up her ass, or so he thought.  Instead, she had smiled prettily for him, although she probably thought he hadn’t seen.  He saw her well enough, although he had been more than a little buzzed.  Despite his foggy memories, Sandor would stroke himself to release at the thought of her naked and on top of him - hips rocking and tits bouncing as she rode him with wild abandon, moaning his name as she climaxed. 

_‘If it means that much to you, you can be on top.’_

Now he remembered saying that to her.  Chuckling to himself, Sandor shook his head at the memory.  _She should have fucking decked me._

Sandor had been certain the memory of this girl would hardly match the reality, the effects of alcohol having surely distorted her beauty.  That was hardly the case, he came to realize, stealing not-so-subtle glances at her as he went through his chords and riffs in automatic motion.  If his band members noticed, they didn’t mention anything during the down time between songs and the handful of discussions regarding things to change or work on with each.

After finishing the last song they had on tap for the evening, Beric called an end to the practice and the guys began setting down their equipment.  As Sandor lifted his guitar from his shoulders and unplugged various cords from his instrument, he could hear Gendry and the little brown-haired girl gushing to Beric and Bronn, breathless as they both blabbered off a myriad of compliments. 

Stretching until his back popped, Sandor lifted his eyes to Sansa who was still perched with her back pressed against the wall.  She gave him a small but uncomfortable smile.  She hadn’t been kidding; this was most definitely not her scene. 

 “I thought you didn’t like metal music,” he mused with a sardonic smirk as he approached the girl.  Appearing flustered, Sansa lowered her eyes as she shifted slightly from side to side. 

“You told me to come,” she replied quietly.  Her voice was soft, sweet, and entirely feminine - something else he had forgotten. 

“Did I?” Sandor laughed as he paced towards the beer cooler Harwin always had in tow to practices.   Given how drunk he had been and how attractive this girl was, it wouldn’t have surprised Sandor if he told her to come.  However, even in his inebriated memories, he didn’t quite remember it happening that way. 

“You don’t remember,” Sansa finally responded after a moment, her voice crestfallen despite the shy smile on her lips. 

“I remember telling your sister to bring you along.”  _Was that how it happened? And why the fuck would this girl care if I wanted her here or not?_  Sandor snatched up two bottles of cold beer and plopped down on an old, tattered couch a few feet away from where Sansa was standing. 

She smiled once more as he held a beer out to her. He liked her smile.  It was shy, it was sweet, and it was for him.   Sandor couldn’t remember the last time a girl as pretty as her actually offered him a genuine smile.      

“This is nice,” Sansa said as she sat down next to him and gently took the beer from his hand.  Her nails tapped against the bottle cap as she stared down at it. 

“This fucking hole in the wall?” Sandor questioned as he took the bottle from her hand and twisted off the cap before handing it back to her.  “You’re a liar.  A terrible one at that.”

Pulling from the beer bottle in a long swig, Sandor stared at her.  Although tall in her own right, she looked small sitting next to him and perhaps a little scared too.  The others, her sister and that Gendry guy included, had headed downstairs, presumably for the hard stuff behind the Kettleblack’s bar.  They were alone now.  On a couch.  By themselves.  And the girl seemed to notice. 

“I was being polite,” she protested, her voice betraying a bit of affront. 

“Always so courteous,” Sandor responded as he rested his arm on the back of the couch and consequently behind her head.  She blushed as he leaned closer towards her.  “That bullshit is lost on me, girl.  What do you really think?”

He expected her to move away from him, to either continue looking wholly scandalized or to protest and finally deck him as she probably should have during their first conversation.  To his surprise and confusion, she did neither.  Instead, she held her spot next to him and simply swiveled her head to meet his eyes. 

“I do think it’s nice,” she asserted. “The carpets are…” Sansa stopped as she shifted her eyes towards the faded and thinning oriental rugs thrown about the floor in various places. “The carpets are ugly,” she declared before taking a delicate sip of her beer.  Sandor reckoned she probably didn’t like beer that much and had only accepted it to be polite, another product of polished manners. 

Throwing his head back, Sandor let out a hearty laugh.  Even her truths sounded polite.  She seemed flustered once more as her eyes shifted between him and the rugs, apparently not understanding why he was laughing.  As his laughter died down, Sandor stared down at her, thoroughly enjoying her look of confusion as well as the features of her face.  She was pretty, he had already known that, but with his senses about him, he hadn’t quite expected her to be a fucking knockout.  The best part was she probably had no idea how attractive she was, especially now as she began biting her lip and inadvertently drawing his attention to its fullness.

“What?” she breathed, her chest rising and falling a bit more frantically now than it had been.

“I didn’t say anything,” he murmured, his eyes shamelessly fixated on her lips again.   

“You’re staring at me,” she informed quietly, as if she honestly thought he wasn’t fully aware of his own leering.   

“You’re nice to look at.” Sandor grinned as he watched her cheeks become flushed and her eyes wide.  “Get used to it.  You can’t tell me the pretty boys you hang around with don’t do it too.  The only difference is they try to hide it.  I don’t.”

Turning towards him, Sansa smiled back, shaking her head incredulously.

“And why are you so sure I hang around with pretty boys?” she demanded, holding her head up as she steadied her eyes on him.  Clearly, she didn’t like him making assumptions about her. 

“Call it an educated guess.  Am I wrong though?” Sandor probed, finding a part of himself was actually curious about the answer.   

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” she questioned in earnest, her eyes matching his with sincerity.  Sandor knew when people lied, and he knew when they were being spiteful.  The girl was doing neither, and he knew she didn’t quite understand the insult she had just paid him.    

“Yeah, the ugly dog,” he grumbled as he scooted away from her and pulled his arm from the back of the couch.  “I get it.”

In an instant, one of Sansa’s hands flew up to her mouth as she gasped and shifted towards him. 

“Oh god! No, that’s not what I meant,” she blurted out in a desperate attempt at damage control.  “I’m so sorry.”

Sandor had lowered his head so that she wouldn’t see the amused grin on his lips. 

“No need to lie about it.  My face isn’t anything to write home about it.”

It was the truth.  He wasn’t deluded enough to actually think girls truly found him attractive.  His body was in excellent shape, he knew that, and maybe some might find the good side of his face handsome enough.  However, the scars were too much for most women to handle.  He scored his share of groupies, but he knew well enough they weren’t fucking him for his looks.  Rather, it was a conquest of their own to say they fucked the Hound from Cannibal Star.  Sandor was used to it and didn’t kid himself into thinking this chick would be any different. 

Sandor felt Sansa’s hand gently come to rest on his knee, her fingers placed hesitantly. 

“I’m not lying.  I only meant to say that I…” Her voice fell away as she seemed to carefully measure her words this time lest she misspoke again.  “If I wanted to hang out with some boring pretty boys, I would.  But I didn’t.  I came here instead.”

As Sandor shifted his gaze towards her, he found Sansa’s eyes pooled with concern and sincerity.  He hadn’t expected that and only shook his head before chuckling. 

“What?”  Her brow furrowed, apparently confused.  If she was confused by his actions, then he was just as confused by hers.  They could sort that out later. 

“You’re a fucking trip,” he laughed once more before setting his beer down and abruptly standing up.  “Band practice is over.  Let’s go.”  

Following suit, Sansa gently set her beer down and stood up before following him across the room.  Downstairs, the others were sharing a drink with Sansa’s sister and Gendry, all erupting into laughter as Bronn regaled them with a story. 

After bidding the appropriate farewells, Sandor and his “entourage” headed towards the back parking lot while the rest of his band mates stayed behind. 

“Thanks for coming out.” Sandor extended his hand to Gendry in a hand shake. 

“Thank you! This has been great!” Gendry exclaimed with a beaming smile as he rested against a ’69 Firebird. 

“That’s a nice car,” Sandor acknowledged with a nod and a half-smile. 

“Thanks, man.  It’s my baby.  You drive a motorcycle?” Gendry queried as his gaze shifted towards the helmet in Sandor’s hand. 

“Looks like it.”

“I thought you drove a Mustang,” Sansa questioned with curious eyes.  Filing through his memories once more, Sandor tried to remember when he had told her that until a Tawny Kitaen reference raced across his mind.  

“I drive the Harley mostly.  The Mustang is for special occasions,” he informed blankly before silence settled between the four of them. 

The conversation was winding down and easing towards the point where everyone said their goodbyes before going separate ways.  With Cannibal Star very much involved with their fan base, Sandor met people all the time, a steady rotation of names and faces he never saw again.  It made no difference to him.  And yet he found himself hesitant to simply ride away and have Sansa, in particular, become one of the many faces and names he once knew. 

“Want a ride?” Sandor blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. 

Wide-eyed, Sansa stared up at him, considering him with something between nervousness and confusion.  From behind, Sansa’s sister nudged her towards Sandor with a wicked grin on her face. 

“On the motorcycle?” Sansa breathed as she continued staring up at him before biting her lip again, a gesture which was driving him crazy.  If she kept that up, he’d be biting at her lips too - nipping them between kisses and licks.

Leaning forward towards her, Sandor murmured in her ear, breathing her in as he did so.  She smelled like vanilla and strawberries. 

“Did you have something else in mind you’d wanna take a ride on?”  Standing back upright, Sandor cocked an eyebrow as a devious smile spread across his lips.

“Still with the innuendos,” Sansa responded with an exasperated laugh and a shake of the head.

“Still with the blushing,” Sandor retorted back as he noted the flush spreading across her cheeks. “It’s a good look on you.”

Dropping her eyes, Sansa smiled in return as if truly touched that Sandor continually alluded to the fact that he found her good looking.  If he didn’t know any better, the girl’s boyfriend, if she had one, did a piss poor job at complimenting her.  Not that Sandor was an expert in that either, but by comparison, it seemed as though he was nailing it.

“I’ll see you back at home,” Sansa said as she waved to her sister and her sister’s boyfriend and followed Sandor to his bike. 

“Where do you live?” Sandor asked as he handed her a smaller helmet from the compartment of his bike.

“Winnetka,” Sansa replied as her eyes flickered up towards his, gauging his reaction as she gingerly took the helmet from his hands and placed it on her head.  _Beautiful and rich.  And way out of my league._

“Do you know where that is?” she probed.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”  Every Chicago native knew Winnetka to be one of the wealthiest areas in the metropolitan area.  Situated to the north of the city, Sandor drove through there plenty of times on his way up to Milwaukee. 

After getting specific directions from the girl, Sandor climbed onto his bike.  Sansa hesitated as she stepped towards the motorcycle, her lips slightly pursed as she tried to puzzle out how to approach.  Sandor extended his hand to her for purchase as she climbed on behind him.  Her fingers felt delicate and her skin soft against his rough, calloused palms which were still smudged with grease from his work day. 

As he released the kickstand, Sandor felt her arms tentatively snake around his chest as Sansa encircled him in a demure embrace.   _Polite as ever._

Apparently, the girl had never been on the back of a bike before.  Like this, she’d go flying off the back the first bump they came to.  With his feet planted on the ground, Sandor reached behind him and grabbed her firmly by her ass.  He could hear a tiny squeal escape her lips as if she were about to protest until he pulled her against him, her chest flush to his back.  Her thighs pressed against his hips as Sandor grabbed her forearms and pulled her arms tighter around him. 

“Hold on tight,” he instructed with a half-smile as he began backing out of the parking space.  As he kicked on the engine, Sandor felt her arms grip him tightly and a steady increase of pressure at his hips as Sansa squeezed her thighs against him. 

Sandor navigated the streets north towards Winnetka, avoiding the highways as he opted for the side roads.  If this truly was the first time she’d been on a bike, Sandor didn’t want to petrify the poor girl by taking the interstate.  Beyond that, he had to admit he liked the feeling of her pressed against him, her body flush up against his as she hung onto him for dear life.  More than a handful of times, he felt her press her cheek against his back as her arms wrapped tightly around him.  She wasn’t exactly dressed for a motorcycle ride, and undoubtedly her skirt was probably hiked up a bit higher than she preferred.  They meandered through suburbia, stopping here and there at stoplights.  As they approached yet another stop, Sandor shifted his gaze over his shoulder.

“Are you doing okay?” he shouted over the motorcycle engine. 

Sansa replied with a tiny nod of the head and a tense smile.  Eventually, Sandor began taking the turns on the various streets she had told him until he found himself in a neighborhood with houses that were obnoxiously large.  As he approached the house with the matching address she had told him, Sandor slowed the bike to a stop as he pulled into the driveway behind a 1970s model Volvo.  Killing the engine, Sandor put down the kickstand as he stood up before offering Sansa his hand and helping her off the bike. 

She regarded him with a smile as she pulled the helmet off of her head and handed it back to him before smoothing down the long strands of her hair. 

“Next time you’re on a motorcycle, don’t lean away from the turns,” Sandor intoned as he returned her helmet to the compartment under the seat.  

“How are you so sure I want to ride with you again?” Sansa countered coquettishly before biting her lip and staring up at him through her eye lashes, content to torture him, although she couldn’t possibly know what she was doing to him. 

“I didn’t say my motorcycle.  I just said _a_ motorcycle.”

He meant it as a joke, but the girl once more looked crestfallen and perhaps a bit embarrassed as she lowered her eyes with a nervous laugh. 

“Oh,” was all she said as her lips formed into a shape of an “O”, exacerbating their poutiness.   

“Although, mine looks a hell of a lot better with you on it.”  Watching as she lifted her eyes to him, Sandor gave Sansa a wink, something which caused her to smile shyly back at him. 

With eyes matched, silence fell between them as they stared at one another, each seeming to subtly evaluate the other.   She was beautiful.  He knew that much about her and apparently came from a well-to-do background.  Beyond that, Sandor knew little of Sansa. 

“You live with your parents?” he asked as he cast a furtive glance towards the enormous two-story, colonial-style home behind him.   

Sansa nodded her head as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“For now.  I’m moving into my sorority house in a few weeks,” she offered diffidently.  Sandor smiled at that.  She was in college - another tidbit he could add to his growing knowledge of her.    

“A sorority girl,” he repeated as he raised his eyebrows at her, the smug smile still plastered across his lips.  “A rich, pretty sorority girl.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sansa scolded as she rolled her eyes.  Once more, he sensed she didn’t like being lumped in with the typical reputation that sorority girls held.  Sandor was left to wonder why she even cared at all what he thought of her.    

“Imagine what your sorority sisters will say when they find out you’ve had my Hog between your legs.” 

Sandor chuckled as Sansa’s eyes went wide again, and a defamed gasp escaped her lips.  This time, he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk.  Instead, he liked seeing the way she blushed at his crude remarks; he liked the way her lips would part when she gasped ever so slightly, the way her breathing became a bit more frantic as her chest began to rise and fall steadily.  He liked that he could get that reaction from her, and he supposed it was nice that she hadn’t decked him yet for it. 

“Is that your car?” Sandor inquired as he motioned his head towards the Volvo parked in front of his bike. 

“Yeah.  I share it with my sister.  I hate it,” Sansa replied as she shot a disdainful look towards the old thing.   

“Those are good little cars.  Keep up with the oil changes and they’ll run forever.”  

Sansa nodded her head as she lifted her gaze up towards him timidly.  Once more the conversation had come to a lull, and it was obvious this was the cue for them to part ways. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Sansa spoke softly before gnawing on her bottom lip once more, clearly a nervous gesture, although Sandor swore to God she was doing it to tease him mercilessly.

“No problem,” he responded with a nod of his head before climbing back onto his bike. 

He hesitated.  He should have just ridden off.  Why was he not able to do that with this girl?  Reaching into his pocket, Sandor pulled out his wallet and retrieved one of his business cards.  It was a long shot, but the way he saw it, he was leaving this one up to fate.   Sandor handed the card to Sansa who took it from him and studied it curiously.  After a few moments, she seemed to understand, as a sweet smile pulled across her lips.

“If you ever need any maintenance, or if you just want to go for a ride,” Sandor spoke, matching her eyes.  With that, he backed out of her driveway, watching as Sansa stared down at the card in her hands with a shy smile.  Kicking on the engine, he rode out of Winnetka with a smile on his own lips and the hope that maybe that old Volvo just might give out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the incredible feedback on this fic! I was not expecting so much interest in a metal 80's SanSan fic.
> 
> A special thanks to mendedheart1, my beta extraordinaire for beta'ing this!


	3. Crazy Train

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Three

"Crazy, but that's how it goes  
Millions of people living as foes"

- _Crazy Train_ , Ozzy Osbourne

* * *

Sansa grumbled as the last remnants of her dreams were punctuated by the garish beeping of her alarm. With a hand shooting out from underneath her comforter, her fingers fumbled with the objects on her nightstand until reaching the snooze button of her alarm clock. Pulling the covers over her head, she had scarcely closed her eyes again before it was blaring once more. Three, four, maybe even five more times she did this. Even though she gained just a few minutes more of sleep, it felt good to burrow in the warmth of her covers and avoid getting up.

She was just about to drift back into sleep when her covers were being yanked off of her as the alarm began beeping once more.

"If you're just going to keep hitting the snooze button, then why don't you turn the damn thing off?" Arya chided, deep bags under her eyes and her hair matted against her face on one side. "You're not the only one in this room."

Sansa snatched the blankets back from her sister as Arya ripped the alarm clock cord from the wall and retreated back to her bed in stumbling steps, disoriented and groggy. Fully awake now and irritated, Sansa jumped from the bed and grabbed up her robe.

"Do you have to be such a brat? The room will be all yours in a week," Sansa snapped as she stomped across the room. A pillow hit the back of her head as she reached for the door knob.

"I bet you can't wait to live in a house full of spoiled bitches. It will suit you well."

With that, Arya turned away and pulled the covers over her head with a huff. Sansa's mouth hung open at her sister's words, which admittedly stung. If she wasn't already running fifteen minutes behind for her first class of the day, she'd ream Arya for that. As it stood, she didn't have time to get into a battle of words with her sister.

Rolling her eyes, Sansa headed towards the bathroom and jumped into the shower. After toweling off, she quickly threw on an oversized striped sweater, leggings, and her Ked shoes. Her full makeup routine was abbreviated as Sansa applied just a bit of powder and concealer, a quick swipe of mascara, and a smattering of blush across her cheeks. With only five minutes before she had to be out the door, her hair would have to air dry.

Throwing her school bag over her shoulder, Sansa bounded down the stairs with her car keys already in hand. Breakfast would have to be eliminated from her morning routine as well.

"Sansa!" she heard her mother call out from the kitchen just as she reached the front door. Giving pause, Sansa sighed and hovered near the doorway.

"I'm running late," she shouted back. Regardless, her mother shuffled down the hallway towards her, still in her robe and with curlers in her dark auburn hair. In one hand was a large, tattered envelope stuffed to the brim with papers inside, and in the other was a steaming cup of coffee.

"I need you to do me a favor," her mother began as she handed Sansa the envelope. It appeared as though she was doing this favor whether she wanted to or not. "Your dad forgot these this morning and needs them for an afternoon meeting. Can you run them by his office for me?"

Furrowing her brow, Sansa bit her bottom lip as she mentally scrolled through her schedule for the day. She was already running behind for Politics of the Twentieth Century with Professor Baelish, and she had planned on studying during the break before her chemistry lab started in the afternoon.

"Mom, that's all the way downtown," Sansa sighed as she shook her head. "My morning class isn't over until twelve, and then my lab starts at two."

She watched as her mother cocked her head to the side and rested one hand on her hip. Sansa knew this was the mark of disappointment and the beginning of some sort of guilt trip that would end up in her agreeing to whatever task her mother wanted her to do. It seemed there was no getting out of this.

"Rickon has a doctor's appointment. I need you to do this for me. You should have plenty of time." Her mother held the envelope out to her as her face seemed to plead with Sansa. She hated when her mom looked at her this way and could have sworn she had never seen her mother consider Arya with the same sort of expectation. Whereas Arya seemed hell bent on disappointing their mother, Sansa was always expected to be a proper lady.

With a groan, Sansa grabbed the envelope and shoved it into her school bag.

"Thank you." Her mother smiled warmly, kissing Sansa on the cheek before seeing her out the door. "Tell Petyr I said hi," she called out from the porch as Sansa tossed her bag onto the passenger seat of the Volvo.

Although she nodded and waved back at her mother, she had no intention of passing that message along to Professor Baelish. It didn't matter if he was a childhood friend of her mother's, both of them having grown up next door to one another and attending college together.

The man was a creep and had somehow fixated on her after learning Catelyn Stark's daughter was going to be in his class this semester. On more than one occasion, Sansa had caught him leering at her across the quad or even during the weekly in-class quizzes, conveniently when no one else might notice. Margaery had made a joke out of it, although Sansa hardly found it amusing.  _'Oh Sansa! He'll never actually make a move on you. He would lose his job. Play it up. The whole professor-student fantasy exists for a reason. It's fun!'_

Perhaps Margaery Tyrell could maneuver her way through a situation like this, but Sansa wanted nothing to do with it and certainly didn't see the allure of this sort of "fantasy".

Her thoughts were turned to her car as the engine refused to turn over. Of all times for her car to be giving her trouble, this was the absolute worst. After a few more attempts, the engine fired up and Sansa headed towards Northwestern's campus. She could deal with her car troubles later. For now, she needed to get to class on time.

By the time she peeled into the parking lot nearest Scott Hall, Sansa was ten minutes late for class. The lot was nearly full as she arrived, the only free spaces in the remote corners furthest from where she needed to be. With a sigh, Sansa pulled her bag from the car and hurried across the parking lot.

When she made it into the lecture hall, she was out of breath and saw that Baelish was already well into his lecture. As quietly as she could, Sansa tiptoed down the steps of the main aisle and eased into the nearest empty seat a few rows back from where Margaery, Mya, and Jeyne were sitting together. When she lifted her eyes, Baelish was already looking at her, smiling slightly beneath his well-manicured mustache. Averting her gaze, Sansa cringed as she pulled her notebook out of her bag. Myranda often made jokes that Professor Baelish, or Petyr as he told the students to call him, looked like a poor man's version of Tom Selleck and a wannabe for a spot on  _Magnum, P.I._  With his tight pants, penchant for colorful and casually unbuttoned shirts, and the red sports car he drove, Sansa had to admit it was true.

Sansa tried her best to pay attention, scribbling the bits and pieces of information about the League of Nations as Baelish droned on. Her mind wandered elsewhere, namely the logistics of how she was supposed to get downtown to drop off her Dad's papers and then all the way back to campus again. Surely, she would have to skip lunch, a thought which only added to the inconvenience of her task. Already, her stomach was grumbling with hunger.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard someone take a seat behind her. Sansa's heart began to race as she picked up on the familiar scent of his cologne. It made her sick to her stomach.

"Wanna tell me why you were late for class, slut?" Joffrey breathed into her ear. His voice elicited shivers to run down her spine. Sansa tried in earnest to still the shaking of her hand. Her eyes flickered about the room hoping someone might see, although there was nothing anyone could do for her right now. Deciding her best option was to ignore him, Sansa steadied her gaze to the front of the room and tried to focus on Baelish's lecture instead.

Sansa knew Joffrey, though, and he wasn't the type to back down. If anything, her reticence would spur him on even further. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt his breath hit her cheek once more.

"People have been talking about us around campus, saying that you dumped me. What they should be saying is that I kicked you to the curb because you were a lousy lay and a fucking moron to boot."

Joffrey chuckled when he saw Sansa visibly tense at that. She had, in fact, never slept with Joff, somehow sensing he wasn't likely to be gentle with her. They had fooled around, but she never let it go any further than that. His patience with that particular facet of their relationship had waned almost immediately when they had started at Northwestern. He had puzzled out quickly enough that girls were willing to sleep with him without much pretense of conversation or commitment.

Sansa felt tears beginning to sting her eyes, more out of exasperation than hurt. She was used to Joff's insults by now. However, after a few weeks of having no run-ins with him, she had thought that perhaps he finally would leave her alone. The incident with Boros and Meryn had left her on edge, precisely the reaction Joff had been looking to elicit.

"Still have nothing to say do you?" he continued on, his voice every bit as cruel as she remembered. "Your family is trash. My father did Ned Stark a favor by hiring him. It was charity for your family. You're the most pathetic of them all. You're nothing."

Sansa had had enough. Whipping her head around, she leveled an irate stare onto Joffrey. With his hair curling in golden waves to his chin and disgustingly thick lips, Sansa could hardly believe she had once found him attractive.

"This is harassment," she scolded beneath her breath. "If you don't leave me alone, I will file a restraining order against you. My dad-"

"Your dad can't do shit," Joffrey interrupted, his face turning red. "My grandfather runs this city, bitch. My family has more connections than you can even dream of. Don't you ever tell me what to do. I'll do whatever I want. You can't do anything about it."

Sansa noticed Baelish was staring at them as he continued his lecture, obviously aware some sort of unpleasant exchange was occurring between her and Joffrey.

"I should have listened to my mother," Joffrey seethed. "She always said you were stupid and a waste of my time. I should have gone for Margaery." With that, Joffrey removed himself from the seat behind her and headed back towards Meryn and Boros seated in the row adjacent to her.

Occupied with her and Joffrey's exchange, Sansa hadn't noticed the time, not until her classmates seemed to shift restlessly in their seats as they discreetly began putting away their notebooks and pencils. It was the tell-tale sign that Baelish would be wrapping up soon, and it couldn't come soon enough. Sitting up in her seat, Sansa watched as Petyr turned to the clock hanging on the wall to his right and noticed the minute hand encroaching on the top of the hour.

"Alright. I think that will do it for today," he announced as he dusted the chalk off of his hands. "Remember, you need to have a rough draft of your papers turned into your partners by Monday!" His voice carried through the lecture hall despite the class eagerly snatching up their belongings and clearing from the room.

Sansa waited in her seat until she saw Joff, Meryn, and Boros retreat from the room. Margaery and the girls must not have seen her, as they exited down the row away from her and headed out of the lecture hall. Sansa tucked away her notebook and began back up the stairs of the hall in quick steps.

"Miss Stark," she heard Baelish call out from behind her when she had almost reached the top.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa groaned internally. This wasn't the first time Petyr had spoken with her after class. In fact, the frequency of these "meetings" was increasing as the semester wore on. Turning around, Sansa feigned a smile, her eyes undoubtedly betraying her discomfort. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Baelish was gradually traversing the distance between them as he meandered up the stairs towards her.

"You missed a riveting introduction to the League of Nations," the man joked with a saccharine smile. His eyes did not stray from her, but instead seemed to roam the features of her face.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Sansa spoke as she shifted from side to side with unease. "I was late getting out the door this morning. I apologize for having missed it."

"Oh, no. Don't apologize," he countered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And please. Call me Petyr."

Sansa's lips creased once more into a tense smile. He was the only professor she knew who preferred for his students to call him by his first name. It was a bit too informal for her taste. The other students, however, seemed to rather enjoy his unconventional approach to higher education. The rumors were that Baelish traveled around the country in the sixties, a product of the counterculture and proponent of free love. Sansa cringed at the thought, considering that her mother had been close friends with the guy during that time.

Baelish stepped forward, gently resting the tips of his fingers on her forearm as he stared at her intently.

"You know, Sansa, if you ever need anything at all, my office door is always open. It doesn't even have to be related to this course. Even if you just need someone to talk to, you can always come to me, and I'm not just saying that because Catelyn is my close friend."

Although she had been trying in earnest to avoid his gaze, Sansa finally met Petyr's insistent stare and nodded her head with a terse smile. She didn't doubt that he would eagerly invite her into his office. As if the overpowering smell of his cologne wasn't enough, that thought beckoned the bile to rise in the back of her throat and threatened to make her gag. Dealing with Joff had been enough to sour her day. This was too much.

"Good," Baelish replied with a toothy grin before slowly retreating away. Sansa wasn't sure if he meant to say more or was simply waiting for her to resuscitate the conversation with her own input. It made no difference. She wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out.

Without another word, Sansa hurried from the room, breathing a sigh of relief as she made her way from Scott Hall back towards the parking lot. Her walk towards her car was rife with tension as her eyes darted around the quad, waiting for Joffrey and his friends to pop out at any moment. Blessedly, they must have wandered elsewhere, as Sansa made it to her car without incident. The engine of her Volvo fired up immediately without much hassle, and Sansa headed towards downtown.

As she made the half-hour commute into the city, her eyes gravitated here and there towards her watch as she measured her time. Perhaps her mother had been right; as long as the lunch-hour traffic was at a minimum, she would have plenty of time to return to school for her next class.

Sansa navigated the streets of the business district, mindful of how the lanes seemed to narrow and watchful as people attempted to parallel park on the street. Having never mastered the art of parallel parking, Sansa opted for the parking garage of her father's building. Once parked, she grabbed the envelope from her school bag and headed towards the elevator of the garage.

She pressed the button for the forty-third floor and waited in silence as the elevator began moving. Sansa was never quite sure exactly what her father did for a living. He worked in corporate finance at Baratheon & Company, and she knew he was part of the mergers and acquisitions department. Beyond that, details seemed to blur, and Sansa couldn't place what her father did all day beyond sit in meetings and take important phone calls. It all seemed terribly boring and stressful, especially considering her father was always tying up loose ends for Robert Baratheon.

The thought of Robert unnerved Sansa. He was a nice enough man - loud and boisterous - but pleasant nonetheless. However, he was Joffrey's father, and regardless of how pleasant that man was, him and Cersei had still raised a monster for a son. Her parents had been admittedly relieved when Sansa dissolved the relationship, but it was still a tender subject; not due to any regrets on her part, but for the awkward fact that the Baratheons and Starks were still good friends. Well, at least the patriarchs of the families were. Sansa knew for certain her mother couldn't stand Cersei Lannister-Baratheon and imagined the sentiment was mutual, more than like.

As she stepped off the elevator, Sansa was greeted by a receptionist poised at the front desk of the open lobby area. Behind the woman were floor to ceiling glass windows which held a beautiful view of downtown Chicago offset by the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan. The view alone was worth all the hassle of maneuvering through the city.

"Hello," the receptionist greeted with a smile as she turned to Sansa, her lips a vibrant shade of red. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I am Ned Stark's daughter, and I'm here to drop off some papers to him," Sansa responded as she stepped forward with the envelope clutched in her hands.

"He's in a meeting, but I will make sure-" the woman's voice was interrupted before she could finish her sentence.

"Sansa!" her father's voice called out from down the hall to her left. Turning towards him, she saw him approaching her with a beaming smile, one which intimated his relief at either seeing her or perhaps the adjournment of whatever meeting he was coming from. Sharply dressed as always, he wore a pressed grey suit, something she knew wasn't quite to his taste but he wore anyway. 'Dressing the part' was what he always called it, although he preferred to be clothed less formally.

Upon reaching her, Sansa was pulled into her father's arms in a tight embrace.

"Good to see you, kiddo. Thanks for bringing the papers. I'd be dead meat without them," he sighed, seeming exhausted despite his cheerfulness.

"It's no problem," she replied as she followed her dad towards his office. When he pushed the door open, she could see stacks of manila folders piled on his desk, each filled with what seemed important documents.

"Busy day?" Sansa inquired as she settled into the plush leather chair opposite his desk and placed the envelope on top of a stack of folders.

Sighing, her father leaned against the wall behind his desk, staring out the glass window to the city beyond.

"Yeah. There's an important merger project Robert wants me to take over while he's on vacation." Sansa could tell her father had left quite a bit unsaid, perhaps his various frustrations with the man who he had grown up with and now worked for. Undoubtedly, the shifting dynamics between Robert and her father put certain strains on their relationship. If that weren't enough, Joff's mistreatment of her had also been a point of contention between them as well.

"I don't know, kiddo. The man seems content to work me into an early grave," he joked with a chuckle. Shaking his head to remove the thoughts, her father lowered himself into his chair.

"You haven't had any problems with Joffrey, have you?" he asked, graveness now coloring his demeanor.

Sansa swallowed hard and shifted her eyes away from her father. Prior to this morning's run-in, she hadn't heard from Joffrey in a few weeks. She didn't want to alarm her dad by relaying what had happened in class today. With any luck, Joff had gotten it out of his system and would leave her alone. With Robert being a benefactor to the university, Joffrey seemed to think he could get away with whatever he wanted. Unfortunately, that notion had been proven correct in the past and only exacerbated his behavior.

Sansa lifted her gaze to her father now and offered what reassurance she could.

"I see him around campus, but he's usually with his friends."

Her father seemed to tense at that, and Sansa could hear him suck in a breath.

"Those boys are bad news. I still think Boros got off too easy with what he did to you. If you see them around campus, I want you to turn and walk the other way, Sansa."

Her father's words were heavy with concern, and his eyes hardened with severity. It seemed this sort of sternness came naturally to her father. Not that he was a cold man but perpetually cautious and concerned for things he didn't always have control over.

"I will," Sansa replied. "I really don't think they're going to bother me anymore." She couldn't say for certain if the last part was true, but Sansa did know Joffrey had set his sights on another girl from a different sorority. Although she never wished Joffrey on any other girl, Sansa had to admit her relief at hearing that tidbit of information from Margaery.

"And these sorority mixers, will he be at those?" her father pressed as he leaned back in his chair.

Sansa bit her bottom lip, knowing for certain that he would be in attendance at the homecoming mixer. Sighing, Sansa nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"Dad, I really can't help that. I can't hide from him. I have to attend certain events for Tri Delta, and if he happens to be there, what am I supposed to do?" Before he could answer, Sansa cocked her head to the side and regarded him with sincerity.

"Everything will be fine. I can promise you I won't be alone with him again. If I do run into him, it will be with tons of people around."

Nodding his head, her father seemed mollified for the moment.

"Alright," he conceded with a tense smile. "If you say so. Well, I've got to get back to work. See you tonight at dinner? Your mother is making pot roast. She's been carrying on about it all week."

Giggling, Sansa lifted herself to her feet and nodded her head. With her stomach still grumbling, pot roast sounded divine.

"You bet! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Oh! One more thing," her father called out right as she reached the door. Turning around, Sansa waited for him to continue. "The Hardyng's are coming for dinner on Saturday. Your mom is really looking forward to it and wants you to be there."

Sansa considered her dad with suspicious eyes as she cocked her head to the side.

"Is Mom requesting Arya's presence as well, or is it just mine?" She watched as her dad held up his hands in acquiescence.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" he chuckled. "I'm just saying she's really excited about finally having the Hardyng's over for dinner."

"This is about Harry, isn't it?" Sansa pressed. Her mother had,, rather obviously, favored Harry over Joffrey even though Sansa had repeatedly reminded her mom that she wasn't interested in Harry. Still, the woman was convinced that all it would take was getting Harry and her in a room together for sparks to fly.

Sansa watched as her dad sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, the conversation ending as his office phone began to ring. She waved goodbye and headed out of his office.

On the elevator ride down to the parking garage, her thoughts were once more invaded with the unsavory memories of her relationship with Joff. They had known each other since the age of eleven when Sansa and her family had moved from Duluth, Minnesota south to Chicago so her father could take the job at Robert's firm. She remembered thinking Joff was a spitting image of Leif Garrett from the covers of her  _Tiger Beat_  magazines. Many nights, she would pray that Joffrey would be her boyfriend, and from the age of sixteen on, it seemed the heavens had answered her prayers. Arya had always hated Joffrey and was never shy about vocalizing that hatred.  _If only I would have listened to my sister…_

As it stood, Arya had better luck in finding good guys. Her sister's first boyfriend, Gendry, was leaps and bounds better than her own first boyfriend. Perhaps she could take a page from her sister's book after all.  _And what might that look like?_

_Sandor._

Unbidden, his name and image flashed across Sansa's mind as she climbed back into her Volvo. No. It was ridiculous. He was uncouth and foul-mouthed. Even now, she could hear his voice, deep and rough, in her head - the way he seemed to say whatever he wanted, regardless of how crude or inappropriate. He was in a metal band and had been wasted the first night she met him. In fact, he didn't seem to remember much of their first conversation. Then there was the way he always looked at her, his stares lingering a bit longer than what was customary for casual and polite interactions. Instead, his eyes would remain steadfast on her with a brooding sort of intensity which still held a bit of curiosity despite the heaviness.

Perhaps more alarming than all of this combined was Sansa's own reaction to his behavior. She should be thoroughly offended and repulsed by him, but that wasn't the case. She too found there to be something intriguing about him. It had been nearly a week since she saw him last, and yet her thoughts seemed to wander to him in quiet moments. They were fleeting and quickly replaced by other, more pressing matters. Truth be told, Sansa purposefully steered her thoughts away from him.

On paper, he wasn't her type, not in the least. However, Sansa knew she had already dated her "type": pretty rich boys who drove nice cars, dressed immaculately, and came from well-to-do families. She had thought Joff was her type, and for all intents and purposes was her type, but that had been a disaster.

_Maybe I could date someone like Sandor…_

The thought was absurd. Although she would never admit it to anyone out loud, it was a bit enthralling as well.

Shaking her head, Sansa sighed to herself as she backed her car out of the parking space and pulled out of the garage, which was situated on a one-way street. Sansa pursed her lips as she tried to visualize the layout of this part of town. She would have to circle around the block to catch the nearest exit that led back towards campus.

When she reached the end of the block, Sansa noticed the cross street was blocked off to traffic, as construction crews and their equipment occupied the entirety of the road. The cars in front of her were in a dead lock, all trying to maneuver themselves away from the construction zone and towards potential detours. Shifting her eyes around the area, Sansa saw detour signs leading her further south down the road she was on.

She chewed her bottom lip as she saw the time steadily creeping towards a quarter past one. At this rate, she might just barely make her second class. However, that hope steadily diminished as the detour led her further and further towards the south side of town. One by one, the cars in front of her had seemed to turn off on various side streets, ignoring the detour signs and seeking their own path towards their destinations. With each passing block, the streets became less familiar to her, and the area seemed to become seedier. When she no longer spotted detour signs, Sansa concluded that she must have missed a turn, perhaps too preoccupied with the dilapidated buildings which now surrounded either side of the street.

When it was apparent that she would have to turn around and head back in the direction she had come, Sansa turned onto a side street and pulled into a driveway. She shifted the car into reverse and backed out carefully to avoid an enormous pothole situated at the end of the driveway. Once out of the driveway, she threw the car into first gear, content to take out her frustration on the shift stick. The car lurched forward before coming to an abrupt halt, the engine having been killed as her foot slipped off the clutch. She turned the keys in the ignition and waited for the car to turn on. However, nothing happened. Normally, the car at least made an attempt to turn over. This time there was dead silence coming from under the hood.

In a panic, Sansa scanned her surroundings. She had landed herself in a sketchy part of town, the nearest gas station a few blocks away. She swallowed hard and took deep breaths to calm herself.  _I'll just walk to a gas station and call someone. No big deal._ With that thought, Sansa snatched up her bag and pulled the keys from the ignition.

With quickened paces, she headed towards the gas station, her eyes cautiously taking in her surroundings as she went. When she reached the payphone on the side of the minimart, Sansa dug in her bag and pulled out her wallet. She sifted through the coins inside, fingering past pennies and a lone nickel but coming across no dimes. If she wasn't so resolved to get this situation taken care of, Sansa could have burst into tears; tears of frustration and tears of anger. She  _knew_ she should have had her damn car looked at before now.

As an old woman shuffled past her to pay for her gas, Sansa called out, the tone of her voice pleading.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she spoke. "Would you happen to have a dime? My car broke down and I need to call someone."

The woman did not speak, but instead shoved her hand in her pocket and removed a few coins. Picking out a dime, she handed it to Sansa with a small smile and walked away. Only now did it occur to Sansa that she did not know her father's office number by heart. It was written down in her address book which was sitting on her dresser at home. With Arya at school and her mother at the doctor's office with Rickon, Sansa's options were quickly dwindling. What's more, she only had one phone call she could make. Furrowing her brow, Sansa stared at the dime in the palm of her hand. In an instant, Sandor's words flooded her mind.

_'If you ever need any maintenance, or if you just want to go for a ride.'_

With renewed resolve, Sansa tore through her wallet, remembering she had put his card in there and hoping to God that it was still in the same place. After thumbing through the other cards, she finally came upon it.

Picking up the receiver and pushing the dime into the pay phone, Sansa dialed the number to Selmy's Auto Repair. With each ring, she could feel the steady rising of her heart beat until a deep voice answered on the other end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments and love! Keep it coming :)


	4. Animal

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Four

"And I want and I need  
And I lust animal"

- _Animal_ , Def Leppard

* * *

Sandor was elbow-deep in the engine of a Pontiac when the shop phone began to ring over the sound of Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo blaring from the radio. By the third ring, he had shifted his gaze through the large window which separated the front of the shop from the garage. Selmy was behind the counter, still haggling with the son-of-bitch trying to talk him down in price on a full transmission repair. To his right, the other mechanic, Lenny, was fitting a tire to a rim and blissfully ignoring the phone.

Cursing beneath his breath, Sandor carefully removed his arms from beneath the hood and wiped his hands on the front of his pants, although it hardly eliminated all the grease smeared across his fingers. When he reached the wall, he snatched up the phone and pushed the receiver to his ear.

"Selmy's Auto Repair. Sandor speaking," he grumbled, more curt than Barristan would have been happy with and his agitation glaringly apparent. His expertise was in maintenancing cars, not customer service. He left that bullshit up to Selmy who was leaps and bounds better at smoothing over issues with customers.

"Sandor?"

The voice on the other end faltered, seeming to pick up on his irritation easily enough. The receiver nearly slipped from his greasy fingers. Sansa's voice was uniquely feminine, her words swathed in sweetness.

"Yeah?" he questioned back.

"This is Sansa," she stated hesitantly, as if certain she would have to remind him who she was.

It had been over a week since he last saw her, but she had invaded his thoughts on multiple occasions since then. He tried to put her out of his mind as he went through the motions of oil changes, tune ups, and tire rotations during the day. Somehow, she had burrowed herself into his memory - something which both exhilarated and vexed him.

When he did not respond right away, Sansa continued, her voice still heavy with uncertainty.

"You know, the girl who came to your band practice last week."

Smiling into the phone, Sandor said nothing as she continued once more.

"My sister was with me. And her boyfriend, Gendry." Sansa's tone had become softer, and her words inflected at the end so that her statements sounded more like questions.

"Hmm. I don't know. Doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure you have the right number?" Sandor questioned, feigning confusion. He stifled a chuckle as Sansa sighed into the phone with exasperation.

"I was the one with red hair," she offered shyly.

"I meet so many redheads…" Sandor let his voice trail off and waited for Sansa's response.

"You gave me a ride home on your motorcycle. Remember? I live in Winnetka." By now, her voice had become pleading and her disheartenment obvious. With that, Sandor decided to give up the charade.

"Oh! Sansa. That's right. The sorority girl. Now I remember." He could have sworn he heard a tiny sigh of relief on her end before she began again.

"Yeah. Hi. You gave me your card, and as it so happens, my car completely gave out on me just now," Sansa informed. He felt bad for her, he really did. However, Sandor couldn't help the wicked grin which spread across his face at the realization that she was calling him for help.

"Where are you? Are you with the car?" he queried, leaning against the wall with one arm crossed about his chest. In the background, he could hear the din of traffic traveling through the receiver. It sounded as if she was outside, stranded more than likely.

"Yes. Well…no," she replied, obviously flustered. "I'm at a gas station a few blocks from the car. I'm in kind of a rough area of town on the south side."

Wordlessly, Sandor nodded his head, the grin somehow disappearing from his lips.

"Alright. Tell me where you are, and I'll come and get you. Then I can take a look at the car."

Supporting the phone between his shoulder and chin, Sandor reached towards the workbench adjacent to him and snatched up a pen and a scrap of paper. As Sansa relayed her location, Sandor scribbled it down and tried to mentally locate what part of the city she was in. True to her word, it was a shitty part of town and nowhere for the likes of her to be.

"Okay. Stay at the gas station. I'll be there in a few minutes," Sandor spoke into the phone before hanging up and grabbing the keys to the shop's tow truck.

He was familiar with the area Sansa was stranded in. Years ago, he had played gigs at a hole-in-the-wall venue a few blocks north. During the day, there was nothing much to worry about, perhaps a few bums panhandling for spare change. By night, though, it was a different story.

Peeking his head through the glass door separating the front desk from the garage, Sandor called out to Barristan who had finally rid himself of his pesky customer and looked none too pleased about the whole ordeal.

"I got a call for a tow down on the south side," Sandor informed blankly. "I'll be back in a bit. The serpentine belt is about shot on the Pontiac, and they should probably look into flushing their brake fluid."

Barristan nodded his head and offered a distracted smile as his eyes wandered back towards the stack of paperwork in front of him. Taking that as his cue to leave, Sandor strode outside and towards the tow truck before hopping into the driver's seat.

The drive to the gas station Sansa was at took longer than he would have imagined. It seemed every asshole in town was out and about at this particular moment. Shaking his head, Sandor chuckled to himself, remembering clearly that he had considered giving Sansa his card a crap shoot. In all honesty, he hadn't expected to hear from her. She was a prep - a sorority girl who was well-to-do and probably had only paid him false courtesies through fake smiles. He had wholly expected her to drift away into obscurity, never to be heard from again. Sandor would have liked to say he could have cared less, but the truth was she had inexplicably crawled beneath his skin - an uncomfortable and disconcerting notion.

When he finally pulled into the small gas station situated amongst decrepit buildings with rotting facades, Sandor spotted Sansa sitting on the curb outside the mini-mart, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting on knees. At the sound of the diesel engine of the tow truck, her head popped up, her bright blue eyes flooding with relief as she pushed herself up from the curb and headed towards the passenger side door in quick steps.

Leaning over the seat next to him, Sandor pushed the door open and took Sansa's bag from her as she climbed into the truck. As she settled in the seat, Sandor couldn't help but steal a glance at her. Once again, his memory had diminished her beauty. The last time he had the effects of alcohol to blame. This time it had likely been the side effect of pushing her out of his mind every chance he could. She wasn't made up like most of the chicks that hung around the band always were. It was obvious the girl was naturally stunning, something which he found incredibly appealing.

"Thank you so much," she exhaled gratefully, her eyes considering him as if he were some sort of savior or perhaps her knight in shining armor. If that was the case, the girl was going to be solely disappointed. He certainly was no fucking knight.

"Just doing my job," he replied as he carefully maneuvered the truck in reverse.

As he turned over his shoulder to look out the rear window, Sandor's arm settled on the headrest of Sansa's seat. Although he was focused on getting the truck out of the parking lot without backing into a gas pump or another car, Sandor could see out of the periphery of his vision that she was staring at him. It wasn't the brazenly obvious leers he regarded her with, but rather manifested in shy glances which lingered a bit too long to be insignificant.

"You see something you like?" he mocked before pulling his arm away and putting the truck into drive. Sandor's gaze settled on Sansa just long enough to watch as her eyes darted away from him and her mouth fell open, the embarrassment obvious.

"No…I…" She stopped herself short of stammering, and Sandor remembered now how easily he could get her to blush. Her cheeks flushed with a bit of color as she turned to him.

"If you turn left, it's down the second street on the right," she spoke softly as she nervously twirled a lock of hair around a slender finger.

Wordlessly, Sandor nodded his head, noting how her hair fell in long waves over her shoulders. He didn't know jack shit about what women did to their hair, but he knew he preferred how Sansa wore hers compared to the way most girls teased the hell out of theirs and sprayed it with a fuck-ton of hairspray.

Silence continued between them as Sandor flicked on his blinker and waited for his opportunity to turn out of the gas station. He never paid much attention to lulls in conversation and could happily sit in silence with other people, not noticing whatever awkwardness others perceived. If the tension growing between him and Sansa was anything to go by, she was the opposite, and her discomfort at the quiet was made obvious as she began to speak.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble coming to get me and all," she began almost apologetically and clearly failing to realize that it was his job to do shit like this. "I was coming from my dad's office downtown, and there was a detour. I'm not really familiar with this part of town, and I must have gotten turned around or missed a turn. Anyway, I just kept going and going, and then before I knew it, I was here. Obviously, I wouldn't think this would be part of the detour, so I decided to turn around and head back from the direction I came. When I did, I killed the engine, and then it just wouldn't come back on. I didn't have a dime on me to call anyone, so I had to ask this old woman for one. I figured you'd be the best person to call, and luckily I still had your card."

As Sansa finished her monologue, she took a deep breath, which seemed to loosen any residual nervousness. Gazing over at her, Sandor shook his head and exhaled a laugh as he pulled the truck out on the main road.

"What's so funny?" Sansa questioned as she turned her head towards him. Her auburn eyebrows knitted together in confusion, lips pursed to the extent of looking pouty. He had almost,  _almost_ forgotten about his fascination with her lips. This was enough to jar his memory as he watched her lick her bottom lip before offering him a timid smile.

"You're like one of those birds that sit outside my bedroom window and chirp their little heads off right before the sun starts to rise, which is usually about the time I'm finally getting to sleep."

It was meant to be a joke, a little jab at the fact that she was a nervous talker. However, his sentiment seemed to float over her head, and just like that, Sansa's smile faded away, and immediately she averted her eyes from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I talk too much sometimes."

Sandor could have laughed again as she apologized to  _him_ after  _he_ had been a prick. He eased the tow truck in front of her car and put it into park.

With her head downturned, Sansa stared at her hands folded in her lap. Resting one elbow on the center console between them, Sandor cupped her chin with one hand and gently urged her to look at him. Without much prompting on his part, Sansa obliged, staring at him wide-eyed and with lips parted in surprise at his touch.

"It was a joke…little bird," Sandor affirmed with a grin and watched a small, relieved smile play across her lips before she lowered her gaze and blushed. He stared at her lips, toying with the wild idea of pressing his mouth to hers. She was close enough to him and hadn't shifted away. It would be purely impulsive and indulgent on his part. As moments passed, the tension was rising once more, statically charged with whatever flowed between them.

Sandor swallowed hard and decided to pull himself away before he did something stupid. He was on a job, after all. In quick, fluid movements, he pushed open the door and slid out of his truck. Sansa had followed him towards her car and popped open the hood as Sandor settled in front of it.

With the hood open in front of him, he instructed her to try to turn the car on. After a few unsuccessful tries, Sandor began investigating the usual suspects for an engine not firing up. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Sansa standing next to him - far enough away as to not interfere with his ministrations but close enough that he could see her watching him. This wasn't a curious gaze as his hands inspected various parts of the engine. And it wasn't a bored, glazed over stare as she waited for her car's diagnosis. No, she was staring and taking her chance to contemplate him as intently as he contemplated her, the only difference being he didn't care if she saw him doing it.

"I'm only going to keep letting you eye fuck me if you make good on it one of these days," Sandor chided, smiling devilishly as Sansa's gaze immediately shifted somewhere else, for all the good it did.

"I'm not eye-" she started, stopping herself short of repeating his words. "I'm not doing that. I'm just watching what you're doing to my car."

At that, Sandor let out a grumbling chuckle as he turned his head towards her. She was blushing again, her cheeks redder than he had ever seen them, as she appeared to be wholly scandalized by his suggestion.

"Bullshit. You don't know a damn thing about what I'm doing to your car."

Sansa's eyes flickered away once more as she crossed her arms about her chest. She seemed to be pouting, perhaps perturbed that she couldn't get away with leering at him as he could with her or maybe still embarrassed that he had caught her doing so.

"My best guess is it's the battery, a spark plug, or the transmission," Sandor announced as he stood up and closed the hood. "All in the order of how expensive it's going to be to repair. I'll tow it back to the shop. We're booked for the next few days, so the earliest I could look at it would be Monday."

"Okay," Sansa replied, biting her lip and appearing disappointed by the information he had given her. It was apparent she had hoped for a different answer. With today being Thursday, he didn't quite know what she expected. The shop was always busiest during the weekends, and he couldn't make an exception for her just because she was some rich girl or because he wouldn't mind fucking her.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, perhaps a bit too defensively. He fully expected her to complain about how long her car was going to be in the shop and maybe even ask him to do her a favor by looking at it sooner.

"My chemistry lab starts in fifteen minutes. I'm going to miss it," she answered regretfully, her gaze shifting to her watch.

Admittedly, he was surprised by her answer, not that he didn't think she was studious, but mostly because she wasn't bitching about her car. In fact, she didn't seem too concerned about it. Instead, she seemed more disappointed at missing her class.

Sandor never went to college, deciding academics were not in the cards for him. Instead, he had learned his trade as a mechanic, and in his down time, fucked around on the guitar. The success of Cannibal Star was never anything he chased after. It just happened. Regardless, even he knew missing one class wasn't the end of the fucking world and would hardly spell disaster for Sansa, especially given the fact that she had a legitimate excuse for skipping.

"Shit happens," Sandor shrugged, his attempt at making the girl feel better, although he knew it wasn't likely to provide her with any solace. "Chemistry lab sounds boring as fuck anyway. You're probably not missing much."

A slow smile crept across her lips as she stared up at him and gave a small nod of her head. She didn't let her eyes fall away, but instead continued to hold his gaze. Sandor wasn't sure if she was about to stay something or was waiting for a prompt from him. Either way, he found it was now he who was having a hard time in keeping his eyes on her. He felt the need to look away as the air between them grew heavy once more - not uncomfortable, but still unsettling in a way he wasn't quite used to.

"If you want to wait in the truck, I'll get your car hooked up," he said, looking away and cursing himself for doing so. There was no reason for him to be acting as if he had never been around a beautiful woman before. He had been around plenty, and never before had this bullshit happened.

Sandor didn't wait for Sansa's response, but instead stepped away from her, grateful now for some distraction as he went about getting her car hooked up to the truck. He went through the familiar motions. He had done this more times than he could count, and yet Sandor found himself having to repeat certain steps, his hands and mind clearly suffering from a disconnect.

Her effect on him was unnerving. In the past week, he had chalked it up to the fact that he needed to get laid. It was purely a primal reaction to a pretty girl. However, Cannibal Star's gigs never failed to produce an enclave of attractive women, a few of which he had indulged in, and he never caught himself thinking about them after the fact. He was left to wonder why Sansa was so different. He hadn't even kissed the girl, for fuck's sake.

When his task was done, Sandor climbed into the truck, his eyes focused on the road as he headed back towards the shop. He avoided her gaze, which was on him once more in sideways glances and curious stares. He decided it would be best to treat this like he would any other customer - distant, professional, only conversing when necessary and about vehicles only. If she wanted to ask him about her spark plugs, he would answer. Beyond that, he forced his eyes and thoughts to remain on the road.

They continued on in silence save for the low murmur of the radio. He could tell she was getting uncomfortable with his reticence and was likely to start chirping again soon. Before too long, he'd probably get caught up in answering questions like what his favorite color was, if he thought the Berlin Wall would ever come down, if the Blackhawks would go to the playoffs this year.

Although he knew little about Sansa, he knew enough to anticipate her questions and allowed himself a small smile when she finally broke the silence.

"How long have you been a mechanic?" she asked, shifting a glance towards him once more.

"Look, you don't have to do that," he replied flatly. It was better for both of them if he shut this down sooner rather than later. She didn't need to waste her manners on him, and he wouldn't have to suffer through questions she couldn't care less about the answers to.

"Do what?" she queried, her voice sounded dejected. "I was just asking a question."

Sandor's jaw tensed, and when they were stopped at a red light, he turned to look at her. She was already staring back at him incredulously.

"I don't like small talk for the sake of filling up dead air. You don't have to pretend you're interested in what the fuck it is I do with my life."

As soon as the words left his lips, Sandor knew they were uncalled for and held some sort of bitterness to them, although he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from. Perhaps he was unwilling to let himself believe Sansa would actually give a shit about wanting to get to know him. He assumed questions like this were a product of her feeling as though she needed to be polite and nothing more.

He expected her to avert her eyes, to turn away and resume the ride in silence. Maybe she would pout after being called out, or perhaps she would get pissed and finally realize her manners were lost on him. Sansa did none of these things, and instead seemed to steel herself as she regarded him, unwilling to back down so easily against his biting words.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I am interested? Or are you always this rude?" Crossing her arms about her chest, she continued to stare at him as she awaited an answer. Sandor had come to expect a lot of things out of this girl - bouts of blushing, shy smiles, timid conversation - but this sudden flush of assertiveness was not one of them.

Now, it was he who was shocked into silence as he turned his attention back to the road when the light turned green. He felt like a jackass. It had, in fact, not exactly occurred to him that she might be genuinely interested. He wasn't a pretty boy jock she was probably used to running around with. He wasn't going to college. He wasn't from a wealthy background. Despite the relative fame of being in Cannibal Star, he lived a modest lifestyle. Though loath to admit it, Sansa was out of his league in more ways than one.

Despite all of this, it seemed he was making a bigger deal out of it than she was. Feeling his guard coming down a bit, Sandor sighed as he cast a glance towards Sansa.

"Twelve years," he responded quietly. "I went to trade school after getting my GED. After two years of that, I started working at Selmy's shop off and on for the past ten years."

The admission dated him, Sandor knew. That may very well be another thing working against them. He was about to turn thirty this year, and she probably wasn't even old enough to drink yet.

Sansa remained quiet as she stared straight ahead with her arms still crossed defensively about her chest. As the silence wore on between them, Sandor was now beginning to feel uncomfortable. Before, he didn't care if the conversation was minimal. With each passing moment of Sansa not uttering a word, Sandor began to feel as though he had blown it. Only minutes earlier, she was happily willing to engage in conversation. Now she had practically turned into an ice queen - stoic, unwavering, and utterly quiet.

"What are you studying in school?" Sandor grumbled. He knew she heard him; from the corner of his eye he could see her stir in her seat. He waited for a response, and when he did not get one, he found it aggravated him much more than it should have.

"Are you not going to answer me?" he demanded, feeling his frustration rising. She was the one who wanted to make small talk in the first place, and now she was purposely blowing him off.

"Apologize first," Sansa replied haughtily as she stared out the window, refusing to meet his eyes.

"What?" Sandor snapped in response, his head whipping around to level an irritated stare at her.

"For being rude," Sansa calmly informed as she turned to look at him, her chin tipped up ever so slightly as she held her head high. "You should apologize."

At that, Sandor erupted into sardonic laughter as he shook his head. This girl was out of her mind if she thought he was going to apologize to her. He refused to apologize for being honest, for calling out the fact that she was baiting him into conversations she couldn't give a shit about at the end of the day. Perhaps there was a chance that he may have been wrong, but that was beside the point, and his pride wouldn't let him admit that now.

"No," he retorted adamantly. "I answered your question. You got what you wanted." Sandor pulled the tow truck behind the back of Selmy's shop where he spotted an empty space for Sansa's car.

"And now I want an apology," Sansa reasoned firmly. Once more, Sandor was taken aback. She was stubborn, almost as stubborn as he was. This was shaping up to be a battle of wills.

Putting the truck into park, Sandor turned towards her. He saw the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips as her eyes shone playfully. Nodding his head slightly as he narrowed his eyes at her, Sandor returned her smile with a smug grin. When he killed the engine of the truck, silence crept between them once more.

Sandor took the opportunity to let his gaze roam the features of her face. He considered her eyes, which were a brilliant shade of blue, large and round; her nose, delicate and upturned at the end; her lips, full and ripe for the taking. Slowly, Sandor leaned closer towards her, his upper body hovering over the center console as one arm reached across, and his hand settled on the arm rest next to the passenger side door.

In the periphery of his vision, Sandor could see the rise and fall of Sansa's chest. His stare was fixated on her lips, the object of his fascination, and he noticed how they parted with what he could only call anticipation. Lifting her chin, Sansa tilted her head slightly, making her lips all the more accessible to him. The space between them was mere inches and filled with mutual exhilaration as Sandor matched her eyes and lowered his voice.

"You want an apology, do you?" he murmured close to her lips, eliciting a shudder to move through her. "Well, little bird, we can't always get what we want. Maybe it's about time someone teach you that."

Sandor's hand gripped the door handle on her side as he pulled away from her slightly. She was blushing furiously, as he knew she would be, but he hadn't expected to see the desire, and now disappointment, lingering in her eyes.

"Here. I'll get that for you," Sandor announced as he pushed her door open, smiling deviously.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Sandor hopped out of the truck and circled around to the back to begin unhooking Sansa's car. Smiling to himself, Sandor shook his head. The look on her face had been priceless - confusion, embarrassment, and dare he say, devastation at the abrupt halt to what she had anticipated from him. The girl couldn't actually think he would kiss her right then and there with his co-workers and boss meandering about somewhere. No, if he was going to finally claim her mouth, as he so badly wanted to, it would be at the right place and time; somewhere where they wouldn't be interrupted, he could give her lips all the attention they deserved. Besides, it was a lot more than just a kiss he wanted to give her.

After a few moments, Sansa circled around to the back of the truck, her bag thrown over her shoulder and her hands folded in front of her. She was still flushed a deep shade of pink, and her eyes fell to her feet.

"I'll see if my dad can come and pick me up. Is there a phone I can use?" Sansa asked, her eyes flickering up towards him although not remaining on him for long. "Also, if you have a phone book as well, that would be great."

With his hands preoccupied with her car, Sandor motioned his head towards the shop.

"Head right through that side door, and the lobby is straight ahead. Whoever is behind the desk can let you use the phone and give you a phone book to use."

Staring up at him, Sansa nodded her head and gave a small, grateful smile before turning away. After unrigging Sansa's car and maneuvering it into the empty parking space, Sandor returned the tow truck to its spot behind Selmy's shop and headed inside.

With a phone book and the phone resting on the counter of the front desk, Sansa had the receiver pushed to her ear, her brow furrowed as she twirled and untwirled the phone cord around her finger. Behind the desk, Lenny had propped up his feet and was nose deep in a magazine. As Sandor came around the back of the counter, Lenny lowered the magazine and waggled his eyebrows before discreetly motioning his head towards Sansa.

Sandor followed the man's gaze, thankful that the girl hadn't seen. The last thing Sansa needed was Lenny leering at her. Sandor could manage that just fine on his own.

"Get lost," Sandor grumbled at Lenny through narrowed eyes. The man lowered his magazine and retreated towards the garage. Grabbing a pen, Sandor began filling out the paperwork for Sansa's car. With his shift for today almost over, the rest of it could be filled out later. In front of him, Sansa sighed as she gently hung up the phone receiver.

"I can't get a hold of anyone," she informed quietly. "My dad left early from work, and my mom isn't at home."

Without lifting his eyes, Sandor continued filling out the paperwork as he tried in earnest to quell the grin that was forming on his lips.

"So you'll be needing a ride, I take it," he declared flatly as shuffled through the folders on the desk and placed Sansa's paperwork into the Monday file.

"Yes, if you don't mind," she replied on a soft voice, clearly disconcerted by her situation.

"Just can't get enough, can you?" Sandor japed as he tossed the folder in his hands on top of a short stack of paperwork in front of him. Sansa let out a nervous giggle in response as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I'll give you a ride, if you say please," Sandor announced arrogantly, crossing his arms about his chest as he gauged her reaction. Wide-eyed, Sansa's gaze flew up to him, her mouth opening and then closing as if she couldn't quite manage a response. "Wouldn't want to be rude now, would you?" he continued with a grin.

"You can't be serious," Sansa exhaled with a laugh as she stared at him in disbelief.

Uncrossing his arms and pressing his hands to the counter, Sandor leaned towards her as he matched her eyes and lowered his voice.

"You can't imagine how serious I am about giving you a ride and making you say please."

Once more, Sandor knew he was toting the line with this girl. Eventually, he was going to cross that line, and she was going to either deck him like she should have the first night he met her or tell him to take a hike. And once more, Sandor was surprised when she did neither. Instead, she pressed her lips together, stopping her own smile from emerging, and shook her head.

"You're terrible," Sansa whispered, laughing once more. The girl had a sense of humor and seemed to take his outlandish and inappropriate statements in stride.

"I'm just being honest," Sandor countered with a shrug of the shoulders. "Now, say please."

"Please," she responded reluctantly, her lips inadvertently pouty as she stared up at him.

Sandor had to give it to her: she was damn near irresistible like this and hard to say no to, not that he was planning on denying her what she needed right now. Still, he knew it would be dangerous if she knew how easily she could get what she wanted out of him by a small pouting of her lips and a doe-eyed stare.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, realizing now he hadn't had time to eat lunch and his stomach was descending into grumbles. Beyond that, he wouldn't exactly mind extending this impromptu run-in with Sansa.

"Yeah, I am actually," she nodded her head, her eyes alight as she smiled up at him.

"Me too. We'll get a bite on the way," Sandor offered as he grabbed up his leather jacket and bike helmet.

"It'll be on me," he continued as she met him at the end of the counter.

Standing in front him, Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him, arms crossed about her chest as she stared up at him expectantly.

"You can call it an apology of sorts," Sandor conceded with a half-smile before leading the way out the door and towards his Harley in the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mendedheart, my beta, for turning out these chapters quickly! She is magic come to life!
> 
> And thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos on this! I really appreciate it so much :)
> 
> My tumblr is no more, but you can check for progress updates on this fic and my other fics on my live journal (dragonsupernova).


	5. Hysteria

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Five

"I gotta know tonight  
If you're alone tonight  
Can't stop this feeling  
Can't stop this fire "

- _Hysteria_ , Def Leppard

* * *

Pressing her thighs against his hips and wrapping her arms securely around his chest, Sansa held on tightly as Sandor navigated turns on his motorcycle, heading north through the city. He cut through side streets of the business district, many she was unfamiliar with as he avoided the bulk of the rush hour traffic. Although the route he was taking was surely a bit out of the way and ultimately wouldn't save them much time, Sansa found herself enjoying the ride anyhow. It was a pleasant end to a day that had been god awful so far.

The breeze whipped through her hair, sending strands of it to whirl around them from underneath the helmet she wore. Had she anticipated riding on the back of a motorcycle today, she would have brought a heavy jacket. The wind was chilly, and she shivered as she pressed more closely to Sandor, absorbing his warmth the best she could. She wondered if he noticed that she was clinging to him firmly, less shy than she had been the last time she was on the back of his bike.

Earlier, she had demanded an apology from him. He had been rude, and she wanted him to show her some respect. He hadn't apologized to her, though. In fact, not only did he not apologize, she could have sworn he meant to kiss her. The space between them had been mere inches as his body hovered close to hers. Yes, she had anticipated a kiss, and in the frantic moments before the kiss, or rather,  _unkiss_ , Sansa had battled with herself over what to do. Her mind was practically screaming that she should, of course, be offended that he'd be so presumptuous. Her body, though…

Her body had reacted to him in ways she hadn't expected, in ways which betrayed and taunted the prudish misgivings of her mind. Her heart had pounded in her chest, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach only to settle as a sweet, dull ache between her legs. It was troubling. It was  _exhilarating_.

With her body pressed against his, she could feel the solid mass of muscle which covered his frame. Sansa had seen him on stage without his shirt, his jeans slung low on his hips as his fingers worked the neck of his guitar. Now, she could feel how muscular he was as her fingers gripped ever so slightly against his sides.

She picked up the scent of leather, sweat, and something unique, something wholly masculine as her cheek momentarily rested against his shoulder. Despite his grotesque scars and the crude manner in which he spoke, Sansa had to admit there was something entirely enticing about him. He was rugged and hard in a way she hadn't seen in any of the boys she hung around with. Maybe that was it; the boys she hung around with were just that.  _Boys._

Boys parading around as men, thinking that the crux of masculinity was how much money they could make when they finally broke into a Wall Street job, where they got their Armani suits tailored, which country club they belonged to. By comparison, Sansa could see Sandor was a different breed. He didn't seem to care much for appearances. He was simple, hard working, and although he spoke to her in ways no other guy dared, he was at least honest.

They ended up in a working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The houses were small and quaint in their own right, populated by workers from the steel mill situated a few miles away. Sansa knew of the neighborhood, as she recalled that Gendry lived somewhere nearby. A smile crept across her lips, then, with thoughts of both her  _and_ Arya ending up in the same neighborhood with men their parents would positively loathe and detest.

Sandor pulled into the parking lot of Rosy's diner situated on the corner of a quiet intersection. The outside was kitschy: neon lights and glass tiles set amongst red and white painted brick, all to be expected from a retro-style diner. After climbing off the bike, Sansa pulled off her helmet, and as discreetly as possible, tried to smooth down the tangled mess that was undoubtedly her hair right now. Sandor must have noticed her attempts at vanity, as he let out a low grumble of laughter before taking the helmet from her and stowing it away in the seat compartment.

When they approached the entrance of the establishment, Sansa reached out to open the door, her motions stilled as Sandor's hand got there first. Holding the door open for her, he gave her a bemused smirk as she walked through. It was a small gesture, but only now did Sansa realize that Joffrey had never offered her such courtesies. She was used to opening her own doors, pulling out her own chairs, easing in to her own jacket, being dropped off at the end of her driveway as he sped off without so much as a peck on the cheek. The realization was jarring.

The inside of the diner was just as cheesy as the outside. The black and white checkered floor was slightly sticky beneath her feet. A long counter extended almost the full length of the establishment with metal stools dotted along the way, every other one occupied with a patron clutching a cup of coffee or polishing off the last bit of their meal.

Following Sandor towards the back of the restaurant, Sansa slipped off her book bag and slid into the red, vinyl booth across from him as the waitress tossed down two laminated menus in front of them.

"Hey doll," the middle aged woman greeted Sandor with an exhausted sigh, tresses of her straw-like blonde hair coming loose from the bun on her head. "You want the regular?" she queried with her pen already scribbling on the pad in her hand.

"Yep," he answered, handing her back the menu he hadn't even looked at.

"And for you, sweetheart?" the woman asked with a dull, coffee-stained smile. It seemed this was the type of establishment which thrived on being a relic of neighborhood nostalgia rather than exceptional service.

"What's the regular?" Sansa questioned, options limited considering she'd hardly even glanced at the menu.

"A stack of pancakes with a side of bacon and a large orange juice," the waitress rattled off, her chain-smoking tendencies entirely evident as her voice rasped from her lips.

"I'll do the same," Sansa responded with a polite smile. "A short stack, though, and a small orange juice, please."

The waitress nodded as she scribbled down the order and took the menu from Sansa's hands.

"It'll be right up." Quickly shifting her eyes between the two of them, the waitress gave a knowing smirk before shuffling away.

No sooner had the waitress left than Sandor's eyes were on Sansa. She could feel him looking at her even as her gaze roamed over the restaurant, studying the pie case, the cheap plastic vases holding artificial red roses on each table, the second shift workers seemingly loathing the night ahead of them. The tell-tale heaviness was on her the entire time, and when her eyes finally settled on him, Sandor was staring back at her, his face impassible and stoic as stone.

"You must come here a lot," Sansa remarked as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. Why must he stare at her like  _that_? She felt the butterflies emerging once more, and her cheeks began to feel flush.

Settling back in his seat, Sandor stared out the window as he shrugged his shoulders. For that, Sansa was grateful. The last thing she needed was him seeing how easily he made her blush, for surely it would only egg him on more.

"I live around here," he replied before returning his eyes to her. "The food's cheap and not bad. Good hangover food too," he added with a small chuckle to himself.

"Where do you live?" Sansa asked, not knowing what else to say. It seemed if it were up to Sandor, they would just stare at one another from across the table, talking with their eyes and nothing more.

"Why do you ask?" he retorted, his interest obviously piqued, as he seemed alight with curiosity.

"Why do you think?" It seemed obvious to her. She was trying to get to know him better. It was a normal component to polite conversation, something he was entirely unschooled in, it would seem.

Sandor settled back in his seat as he propped his hands behind his head, evaluating her through narrowed gaze with a devious smile playing about his lips.

"Hmm. If I had to guess, you want me to take you to my place after this so we can make good on all this talk of you taking a ride."

Clearly pleased with his answer, Sandor quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sansa groaned as she rolled her eyes. She had set herself up for that one and was surprised she hadn't seen it coming. It seemed these sort of lewd innuendos were par for the course with him.

Wholly amused by her response, Sandor let out a loud laugh before unwittingly licking his bottom lip.

"What? You don't put out on a first date?" he japed with a wink, his grin widening with delight.

Sansa rolled her eyes once more. At this rate, they were going to roll right out of her head because it seemed Sandor would not be letting up. He enjoyed regarding her with such vulgarity, as it was obviously entertaining to him.

"This isn't a date," she deadpanned, keeping a straight face the best she could. It wasn't funny, really. A true gentleman wouldn't speak to her this way. Then again, Joffrey had been all sappy declarations of affection and polished manners when they first started dating, and that had quickly dissolved away to reveal the horrid little monster underneath.

"Well excuse me, then," Sandor responded, pulling his arms free from behind his head and crossing them about his chest as he feigned affront. Assuming that was the end of it, Sansa watched as Sandor became quiet, staring out the window next to them as if studying some feature of the parking lot.

She felt a tug of guilt. He meant no harm, that much she could tell. It wasn't as if he truly thought he could take her back to wherever he lived and she would jump into bed with him. Just as she was about to say something, a small smile began to tug at the corner of Sandor's mouth once more. Returning his gaze to her with an impish smirk, Sandor leaned forward, murmuring his words with a low rasp and his eyes steadily on her.

"Do you put out on a non-date?" he retorted, his smile faded, although his eyes still gleamed with mischief.

"No, I most certainly do not!" Sansa exclaimed, her chin tipped up as she gave an irritated sigh and a shake of her head. Undoubtedly, it was a snooty response, although she didn't quite care. If he was allowed to be vulgar, she was allowed to be a snob.

"My mistake," Sandor chuckled, holding his hands up in the air. After a cadence of silence, Sandor shrugged his shoulders, appearing nonplussed as he casually regarded her once more. "It just seemed to me you enjoyed having your thighs wrapped around me on the back of my bike, pushing those perky tits of yours against my back, nuzzling up against me."

The waitress had appeared at the end of their table with her tray, carefully sliding the plates onto the table and tossing down a pair of straws and a pile of napkins. Neither she nor Sandor paid the woman much attention as they matched eyes with one another across the table, deadlocked, as neither of them broke the stare.

"Don't think I didn't notice that," Sandor continued on a low, sultry voice. "I did. And you better believe I liked it just as much as you."

Despite her mouth dangling open, Sansa didn't know what to say or how to respond. Once more, her mind was demanding that she deny it, that she tell him he was insane if he thought she was intentionally doing any of those things, and that she wasn't remotely interested in him. That wasn't the truth, though. And of what little she knew of him, she knew he could sniff out lies better than most.

On the other hand, she wasn't about to admit that there had been something oddly tantalizing about being so close to him, that instead of being repulsed by all the sexual suggestions he was making, she found herself doting on them more and more, the visuals clear and eliciting her mind to wander to places it hadn't quite been before. She was a good girl, a  _nice_ girl. And nice girls didn't entertain the thought of men such as Sandor doing  _those_ types of things to them.

The waitress had asked a question, although Sansa had barely heard her. Without breaking their gaze, Sandor had offered a one-word reply, to which the waitress flittered away after shaking her head with a sigh.

Drawing in a breath, Sansa said nothing, and instead, turned her attention to the food in front of her. After slathering her pancakes in the appropriate accoutrements and cutting them into bite-sized pieces, she ate slowly, despite the fact that her stomach had been growling and grumbling all day.

"You never answered my question about what you're studying in school," Sandor finally broke in between bites of bacon, which he had been dipping in syrup.

Delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and placing it back on her lap, Sansa cleared her throat.

"I'm in the pre-vet program," she replied, happy that the conversation had returned to being civil once more. "I want to go to veterinary school."

At that, Sandor shook his head before taking a gulp of his orange juice. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he stared at her with a half-smile.

"The little bird wants to save the animals," he commented before taking an oversized bite of pancake. "Well, that's fucking adorable."

Sansa said nothing in response. She didn't offer a polite smile or acquiesce with a quiet sigh. Instead, she picked up her fork, and in deliberate motions, piled pieces of pancake onto the tines. Squeezing her fist around the utensil, she rested the bottom against the table as she pulled back on the prongs with the index finger of her other hand.

Pokerfaced, she matched her eyes to his, the threat looming should he have more to say, more jokes to make, more mocking to dish out. She may not have crude quips to fire back with, but she had learned a thing or two from Arya. Flinging food was one of them.

Equal parts taken aback and impressed with her call to arms, Sandor relented, his head unwittingly nodding ever so slightly with what seemed to be approval.  _Two can play at this game,_ she thought smugly to herself and with a ghost of a smile.

"I was kidding," Sandor laughed. "I respect that. I really like dogs. I've thought about getting one, but being on the road sort of kills the possibility."

Nibbling on the pancake bits still on her fork, Sansa cocked her head to the side with curiosity. He hadn't spoken much about his band. He didn't claim his musicianship like his band mates, parading around as he collected accolades and reveled in the lime light.

"How is it that you're able to be both a mechanic  _and_ a guitarist in a metal band?" Sansa asked, settling back in her seat with a smile as she began to relax.

"I'm in between tours right now," Sandor explained as he munched on another piece of bacon. "The next one will start up in a few weeks. I don't like doing nothing in our downtime, so I work at the shop." He gave a brief pause as he shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, that's my job. It was what I was doing before Cannibal Star, and it's what I'll do after."

"You don't think you'll continue being a musician?" she pressed, intrigued at how he handled his relative fame. While metal was certainly not the type of music she listened to, Sansa knew enough to know that Cannibal Star wasn't some garage band playing hole-in-the-wall gigs. They had a large fan base which extended well outside Chicago and the Midwest.

"Not forever, no," Sandor shook his head. "Music is a young man's game. Unless you're the Rolling Stones, most musicians fade out eventually."

Sansa bit her bottom lip as she nodded in response. She wanted to ask how old he was, but couldn't quite conjure up a way to inquire without sounding rude, at least in her own mind. He was older than her, she knew that for sure, in his early thirties, perhaps. His eyes had drifted to her lips, and Sansa realized now that she was staring at him.

"Are you from Chicago?" she asked, her cheeks flushed once more with a familiar burn.

"No, I grew up out West, in California. I moved here after my dad died," Sandor responded as he seemed to tense, his jaw setting firmly.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your dad," Sansa replied with sincerity, her brow furrowing. "What about the rest of your family? Are they still in California?"

Exhaling a mirthless laugh, Sandor shook his head as he pushed a lone piece of pancake around his plate, trailing it through a puddle of syrup and melted butter.

"My mom died a few years before my dad," he offered quietly. "My sister died when she was a little girl. She fell into a storm drain during a heavy rain and drowned. And my brother…"

Sandor gave pause as his features seemed to darken, his eyes hardening as he stared blankly down at his plate.

"Last I heard he OD'd on heroin a few years ago," Sandor finished, abruptly dropping his fork to his plate as he ran his hand through his hair.

With her words fleeing her, Sansa scrambled for something to say, but everything she could offer to him seemed poor consolation to what he had endured.

"Sandor, that's terrible," she finally managed breathlessly as she reached across the table and rested her hand on top of his. "I don't even know what to say. Sorry hardly seems enough."

"Save it," Sandor cut in sharply. "I could give a fuck about my brother. My parents have been dead a long time. My sister…well…I don't know." He had let his words trail off as he shook his head, driving away unsavory thoughts.

Pulling her hand away and settling it gently in her lap, Sansa felt a twinge of guilt for having brought up the subject. It was unimaginable to her that anyone would be without any family.

"The food is really good," she commented with a bright smile, deciding it best to change the subject. "I've never had a hangover, but I'll take your word that it's good for that too."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Sandor stared across the table incredulously as a playful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Wait. Hold the phone. You're a sorority girl, and you've never been drunk before?" Laughing as he crossed his arms about his chest, Sandor narrowed his eyes at her in disbelief.

"No," Sansa giggled in return as she shook her head. "Not all sorority girls are vapid, drunken morons. Besides, I don't like the taste of most alcohol. My older brothers have made me mixed drinks before, but they're always too strong."

"You've got older brothers too," Sandor responded as he sucked in a breath. "Fuck me. I better be on my best behavior then. No more talk of you riding me. At least not around them." At that, he descended into hearty laughter.

Sansa couldn't help the smile forming on her lips - no more than she could help herself from laughing along with him.

"You're unbelievable," she murmured as she gazed up at him through her lashes.

"If you put out on non-dates, I'd show you how unbelievable I can be," he countered with a wicked grin.

Sansa shot him a chiding look, although it hardly stopped her smile from forming once more. She was blushing again, she knew, and once more her mind was wandering as her imagination produced fleeting thoughts and momentary visions of them together: naked, panting, a fine sheen of sweat over their bodies as she straddled him, head thrown back and moaning his name. She had long wondered how pleasurable sex could be. When she would reach between her legs and delicately dip two fingers into herself, she would envision the man she would eventually give herself to and he had always gone faceless. Unexpectedly and against all control, Sandor seemed to have taken this faceless man's place.

"Exactly how many siblings do you have?" Sandor asked, rousing her from her silent musings. She hoped like mad that he couldn't puzzle out her thoughts, although it hardly mattered. He was more than likely thinking the same about her. Now, they were both guilty as charged where that was concerned.

"Umm…I…well," she stammered, pulling in a breath to calm herself. Her body was feeling hot beneath her sweater, and she knew she was flushed. "There's Robb, he's the oldest. He's in law school at Yale. Then there's Jon who is finishing up officer training in the Army. There's Theon who is my adopted brother. He's studying at Miami University in Ohio. And when I say studying, I mean partying. You've met Arya. She's two years younger than me and is in her senior year of high school. Bran is thirteen and too smart for his own good. Rickon is seven and completely wild but a sweetheart."

When Sansa finished, she took a long pull of her orange juice through her straw, her eyes averted from Sandor's.

"Big family," he noted with a slow bob of the head.

"Yes, I'm very fortunate," Sansa offered quietly by way of response.

"You're from up North, aren't you?" Sandor questioned, although it seemed he already knew the answer.

"I'm from Duluth," Sansa divulged. "I moved here when I was eleven."

"You still have the accent," Sandor said with an amused smirk.

"I know. I hate it," she groaned. Although she knew her Minnesotan accent wasn't as awful as it used to be, she was still self-conscious of the way her vowels rolled off her tongue.

Sandor gave a soft chuckle as she lifted her gaze to him timidly. His eyes were flickering up and down her form, but this wasn't a leering stare. Instead, there was something almost admiring in the way he was regarding her now.

"It's fucking cute," he responded. "You wear it well." With that, he upended the contents of his glass as he finished off his orange juice.

The waitress appeared once more as she wordlessly pressed the check to the table and cleared their plates out of the way. Reaching behind to his back pocket, Sandor opened his wallet and handed the waitress a few bills worth of money, instructing her to keep the change.

"Thank you. For this and for everything," Sansa offered with a smile as she chewed the end of her straw and let her eyes steady on Sandor. The way he approached her was unorthodox, his blatant innuendos and crude jokes certainly foreign to her. However, beneath all of that, there seemed to be something unconventionally appealing about him, though she couldn't quite place it.

"It's all part of being a gentleman," he japed as he shoved his wallet into his back pocket.

Unbidden, Sansa let out an uncouth snort. "I didn't know those existed anymore," she retorted quietly and perhaps even a tad bitterly.

"Are the frat boys not proper gentlemen?" Sandor prodded. It had sounded like another one of his jokes, his way of mocking her as if she were some sort of caricature of a college sorority girl. When she lifted her eyes to him, though, she found that Sandor seemed genuinely curious as he waited for her reply.

"Not the ones I know. They're more interested in sports and drinking and partying." Now that she thought about it, she didn't quite understand why Margaery and all the other girls were so gaga over the frat boys anyway. Their only redeeming qualities were superficial and had to do with either their looks or how wealthy their families were.

"So the sorority girl isn't interested in the frat boys. Say it ain't so." Amused by Sansa's apparent disdain for frat guys, Sandor let out a rumbling laugh.

"I dated a guy from a fraternity. I thought we were perfect together, and he was everything I wanted," she confided, although she couldn't quite say why. She didn't speak much of Joffrey and avoided the topic wherever she could. "I couldn't have been more wrong," she added as an afterthought.

Sandor's smile faded, and his countenance became stern as he studied her face intently.

"Sometimes people aren't always who they seem to be," he remarked after a short silence had settled between them.

She couldn't say for sure whom exactly he was referring to but held his stare as she matched her eyes to his.

"No, they certainly aren't," she agreed quietly and with a small smile gracing her lips. "When we were on the phone, did you really not remember who I was?" The question came from nowhere. It had lingered in the back of her mind, and she hadn't planned on asking him. It didn't quite seem to matter to her until now.

Sandor furrowed his brow as he stared down into the empty contents of his juice glass, upholding a stoic façade for many long moments before finally breaking a smile as he lifted his eyes to her.

"You did remember!" Sansa exclaimed with a smile, chucking her wadded up straw wrapper at him and missing him by a good few inches. "You're so rude!"

"And you're so gullible," Sandor countered with a laugh. "Of course, I remembered."

Sansa felt a flush of giddiness at his admission, something she hadn't felt in quite awhile. She had convinced herself and her sorority sisters that she was too busy with school work to venture into the dating world. That had only been a half-truth, really. The other half of the truth was that she had been chasing after a feeling -  _this_ feeling - and had turned up empty handed with all the boys who had shown interest in her. It seemed she had found what she had been searching for in the most unlikely of places.

"Alright. Let's get you home," Sandor said as he scooted out of the booth. Sansa followed suit, snatching up her book bag before they headed out towards the parking lot.

Unlocking the seat compartment, Sandor retrieved the extra helmet and placed it on her head. Before she could thank him, though, he pulled the helmet down over her eyes and shot her a playful grin as she pushed it back up, feigning a pout as she buckled the strap underneath her chin.

Sandor settled himself down on the bike, scooting forward to make room for her. She remembered, now, the remark he made about her pressing herself against him, the way he too acknowledged their close proximity and admitted he enjoyed it.

Despite a subtle chill to the air, Sansa found her sweater was stifling once more, and her heart was steadily thrumming in her chest. She climbed on the back of the bike, her hands gripping Sandor's shoulders for purchase as she seated herself behind him.

Perhaps out of curiosity, or maybe even her own brand of deviance, Sansa slowly rolled her hips forward against him, her legs spread behind him and her thighs pressing against his hips. She let her hands trail from his shoulders down his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. Easing herself forward, Sansa pressed her breasts against his back, writhing a bit as she situated herself comfortably against him.

As soon as her movements stilled, Sandor turned his head to look over his shoulder as he lifted an eyebrow at her with an accusatory stare.

"What? I don't want to fall off," Sansa responded innocently with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You're a cock tease," Sandor groaned on a frustrated sigh and with a shake of his head.

"No, I'm not," Sansa denied. She had been called many things in her life, but a cock tease was hardly one of them.

"Well, you're teasing mine," Sandor warned as he matched her eyes.

"Stop it. I am not," Sansa countered as she gently swatted his arm and dropped her gaze.

"Don't believe me? Reach down and find out," he quipped with a devilish grin before turning around once more.

Sandor released the kick stand and backed out of the parking spot before firing up the engine.

A small smile crept across Sansa's own lips, a secret smile that he did not see. Surely, she would never be so bold as to grope him, the thought was absurd. However, Sansa found herself enraptured once more as she pressed ever so slightly against him, clinging onto Sandor as he navigated turns. When they came to stoplights, he would settle back against her, perhaps expecting Sansa to pull away and maintain a modest distance. Instead, she held her place behind him, their bodies flush and warm against one another.

As Sandor pulled in front of her house, Sansa could see her dad was already home, his car parked in the driveway beside her mother's vehicle. Sandor cut the engine and pushed down the kickstand as Sansa slowly maneuvered off of the bike.

Turning to sit side saddle on the bike, Sandor took off his helmet and wiped at the sweat beading on his brow. Unbuckling her own helmet, Sansa handed it back to him with a smile and watched as he replaced it back into the seat compartment.

"Nice running into you again, little bird," Sandor intoned on a low voice, his eyes matching hers. "I'll let you know about your car."

"Thanks," she breathed quietly, shifting from side to side. For many moments, neither of them said anything, and instead, the space between them had grown heavy as they exchanged lingering stares with one another. Although he looked as if he was about to say something, Sansa took a small step towards Sandor. She did not know how she found the words which finally broke the silence or what possessed her to blurt them out. Either way, she heard herself saying them before she had a chance to properly think them over.

"Are we going to keep improvising run-ins, or are you going to take me on a proper date?"

She could only fleetingly look him in the eye as she asked, and her gaze was now downturned as she waited for him to speak. When he didn't say anything at first, Sansa felt a sudden, embarrassed flush hit her cheeks. Before she could backpedal, Sandor had reached out to settle his hands on her hips and was coaxing her towards him. The fluttering in her stomach had morphed once more to a sweet ache between her legs, now accompanied with a sudden flush of wetness. His hands gripped her hips as she stood between his legs, which were on either side of her. With his fingers brushing beneath her chin, he tipped her head up ever so slightly so that she could meet his eyes.

"There's nothing proper about me, babe," he responded with a deep, throaty chuckle. "Yeah, I can arrange something," he nodded with a half-smile. "I have a gig tomorrow night, but Saturday I'm free. I'll pick you up at seven. How's that?"

Trying to conceal her delight, Sansa bit her lip hard as she nodded her head. With a groan that seemed to originate in the back of his throat, Sandor's eyes fixated on her lips.

"Goddammit, girl," he breathed with a shake of his head. "Fuck it," she heard him murmur, more to himself than to her, it would seem. She gave a tiny squeal as he pulled her closer to him, his lips brushing against hers. No sooner had their lips touched than she heard the front door of her house suddenly swing open.

Abruptly standing up, Sansa felt her eyes widen and a slow panic set in.

"Sansa," her father called out as he dashed onto the front porch, his eyes shifting between her and Sandor. Her mother wasn't far behind, falling in next to her father's side as she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and stared at Sandor Clegane perched on his bike. Sansa felt Sandor's hands retreating away from her hips, but by the look on both of her parents' faces, it appeared his movements were too late.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and support! I appreciate it immensely. And I do apologize for this chapter taking a bit longer than usual to get out!


	6. Sweet Child O' Mine

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Six

"She's got eyes of the bluest skies  
As if they thought of rain  
I hate to look into those eyes  
And see an ounce of pain"

- _Sweet Child O' Mine_ , Guns N' Roses

* * *

 Despite the plush cushions of the floral printed couch he was sitting on, Sandor shifted uncomfortably, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped tightly in front of him.  His teenage years had been spent drifting between friends’ couches, in and out of jobs as he scrounged his money to put himself through trade school.  He had been spared the stern lectures and silent stare downs from his parents.  It seemed, though, that Ned Stark was content to provide him the experience he had missed out on.  Seated next to him was Sansa, although she was on the other end of the couch, an empty cushion between them.  In the recliner across the room was her father.

With his hand stroking the salt and pepper whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard, Ned was rocking ever so slightly in the chair as his eyes drifted between his daughter, who was staring down at her hands in what appeared to be shame, and Sandor, who was staring right back at him. 

Ned Stark was a hard man to read; his eyes were a cold grey, and the thin line of his lips was downturned in what appeared to be something between a scowl and a frown.  Sandor didn’t quite understand what rules Ned and his wife, Catelyn, imposed on their daughter, but they sure as fuck didn’t apply to him.  He was a grown man, and Sansa, for all intents and purposes, was a grown woman who was making her own way in life, albeit underneath their roof for the time being. 

As an uncomfortable silence wore on, Sandor played it all back in his mind. Undoubtedly, Sansa’s parents heard the buffeting of his motorcycle engine when he pulled up in front of their house.  He would bet the barn on the fact that they most likely saw the exchange between the two of them: the way Sandor had rested his hands on Sansa’s hips and how she had been standing between his legs.  Whether or not they saw the way he had pulled her into him, eagerly seeking out her lips, he did not know for certain.  By the way Ned was silently boring through him with his steely gaze, Sandor imagined the man had seen it all transpire. 

To think about it now, it probably wasn’t his best laid plan to claim that pretty little mouth of hers right then and there.  Since the day he met Sansa, she had been driving him crazy with the whole lip biting thing, and he had to find out for himself what it was like to nibble on those perfectly full and pink lips.  To call it a kiss, though, was ridiculous.  He barely had the opportunity to lavish the attention on her that he wanted.  Instead, he felt her pulling away and turned around to find her parents standing on the front porch - concern, relief, confusion, and horror coloring their features each in turn. 

After an awkward introduction and Sansa haphazardly explaining what had happened to her car, Ned had offered Sandor a firm handshake before inviting him inside, eying him warily as they went. Sansa’s mother had given a terse nod of the head and a weak smile as Sandor introduced himself to her as well.  She was a refined woman, decked head to toe in some Colors of Benetton getup.  She possessed the same graceful features, auburn hair, and deep blue eyes as her eldest daughter, and despite the warmth she tried to invoke with her smile, Sandor could tell damn well that the woman wasn’t pleased with whatever it was she had seen. 

“So, Sandor,” Ned finally spoke on a deep voice, his brow furrowing in thought.  “Explain what the issue with the Volvo is again.”

“My best guess is a spark plug, the transmission, or the battery,” Sandor replied with a shrug, leveling his eyes onto Ned, who stared back unwavering as the battle of wills wore on.  “I didn’t get a good enough look to say for sure.”

As soon as he finished, Catelyn fluttered into the room carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea, one of which she handed to him.

“And where is it you work?” she inquired as she seated herself on a love seat adjacent to him, her eyes momentarily flickering over his scars before discreetly looking away. 

“Selmy’s Auto Shop,” he answered, suddenly feeling every bit the greasy mechanic he was. 

Had he known he was going to be meeting Sansa’s parents, he would have made at least a half ass effort to appear somewhat put together.  Although, he imagined it wouldn’t quite matter.  Catelyn Stark, pleasant as she may be, was staring down her nose at Sandor with sideways glances and aloof smiles. On the other end of the couch, Sansa shifted, uncrossing and then recrossing her legs as her foot bobbed up and down with obvious discomfort.   

“I know Barristan,” Ned nodded with the ghost of a smile tracing across his lips.  “He’s a good buddy of my friend Robert.”

Silence settled over them once more as Sandor took a sip of his iced tea before setting it on the end table next to him, careful the bottom of the glass ended up on a coaster.  It wasn’t as if Sandor hadn’t been around this sort of luxury before - oversized, solid mahogany furniture, elaborately woven area rugs, old as fuck antiques serving as upscale knick knacks.  He had been to plenty of album release parties held at some label exec’s mansion, he had spent the night in fancy hotel rooms, eaten at restaurants which were too snooty for their own damn good and certainly not for the likes of him or his band mates.  Of course, it all made him feel uncomfortable, and he invariably felt out of place, but this was a different sort of discomfort and one he wasn’t used to.  Record execs were all cocksuckers and douche bags, flaunting their wealth at every turn.  Despite their own apparent wealth, there was something humble about the Starks.

“Well, in any event, Ned and I are grateful for your help and for bringing Sansa home,” Catelyn spoke with a slight southern accent, clearly not a native Minnesotan like her husband.  “We were worried sick,” she finished, casting a glance towards Sansa with something between disapproval and tepid relief.   

“You act as if I was out all night and you were about to send out a search party,” Sansa replied with fleeting annoyance. 

By the way Catelyn’s mouth hung open ever so slightly before she gathered her composure, Sandor could tell that it wasn’t often Sansa talked this way to her parents. 

“How were we supposed to know, Sansa? Petyr said you weren’t in chemistry lab this afternoon,” Catelyn fired back, her eyes piercing through her daughter.   

From across the room, Sandor could see Ned lift a hand to his face as he squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes softly as he shook his head. 

“Was he checking up on me or something?” Sansa huffed, crossing her arms about her chest as she chewed her bottom lip.  From their conversation today, Sandor knew Sansa had had a relationship with a frat boy, which had gone sour.  As Sansa seemed to grow increasingly irritated, Sandor wondered if Petyr was her ex. 

“You left your notebook in his class, and when he went to your lab to return it to you, you weren’t there,” Catelyn countered in defense of this Petyr character.  It seemed to him that Catelyn had a soft spot for the guy, whoever he was.

“He also said you had a run-in with -” the woman’s words were stilled as Ned pulled his hand away from his face and held it out to his wife. 

“Cat, please.  We’ll talk about this later,” he intoned with finality.  At that, Catelyn settled back in her seat with a sigh as she pressed her lips together, obviously displeased with the turn of the conversation. 

The awkwardness filling the room had little to do with him now, Sandor could tell; he was no longer the elephant they were all clumsily maneuvering around.

“Sandor, would you stay for dinner?”

The question caught him off guard, especially given the fact that it was Ned who was asking.  Lifting his eyes, Sandor could see that the man was staring at him once more, seemingly evaluating him still, although some of his tension had been eased away. 

“Yes, please stay for dinner.  We have plenty of pot roast,” Catelyn added softly and not insincerely, although her countenance was still clouded with concern. 

Shifting his gaze between Ned and Catelyn, Sandor had thought to politely decline.  He had had his fill of both food and awkward conversation.  However, when he cast a furtive glance towards Sansa, he saw she was already looking back at him, a small smile playing about her lips and her eyes staring at him hopefully. 

“Thank you. That’d be great,” Sandor conceded, not knowing why the words were rolling off his tongue. He had meant to decline, the string of “thanks, but no thanks” statements on the tip of his tongue. It would seem he was a slave to those sweet smiles Sansa was willing to give him, and that both confounded and exhilarated him. 

Before much more could be said, the front door swung open and the little wisp of a girl came bounding in.  With headphones blaring an all-too-familiar tune, Sansa’s sister, Arya, was bobbing her head to the music as she shucked out of her backpack and let it fall to the floor with a thud.   Head banging away as she cut through the riff of an air guitar solo - a solo Sandor himself had played many times with Cannibal Star - the girl was unaware that she had an audience. As she caught sight of them sitting in the living room, Arya stopped dead in her tracks, the mop of hair on her head tousled and her mouth dangling open as she tore her head phones off. 

“Holy shit!” she cried out, her wide eyes making a circuit about the room before ultimately landing on Sandor. 

“Arya Stark!” her mother snapped immediately as she wagged a chiding finger at the girl. “You watch your mouth, young lady.”

With his wife’s attention now on his youngest daughter, Ned Stark huffed a quiet laugh as he shook his head, his icy reserve now on the thaw. 

“Mom, do you know who this is?” Arya screeched out as she ran into the room and shoved her finger a few inches in front of Sandor’s face.  Cateyln followed Arya’s finger, taking a moment to survey Sandor’s form, which was wholly out of place in her living room. 

“He’s Sansa’s...friend, Sandor,” Catelyn informed, fretting over her words as she seemed to quietly puzzle out _exactly_ what Sandor was to her daughter.  “Have you two met?” she asked of Arya, confusion and now concern coloring her features once more.

“Mom! You don’t understand! This is Sandor,  _the Hound,_ Clegane.” Arya gave pause as if the mention of his stage persona would inspire a sudden epiphany in her mother.  When Catelyn stared back at Arya blankly, the girl continued. “You know? From Cannibal Star?”

“That’s that metal band I keep hearing about,” Ned broke in with a toothy smile, the first  _real_ smile Sandor had seen from the man. 

Eagerly nodding her head, Arya turned to her father now as Catelyn continued to study Sandor through sideways glances, toiling over the new information she had received about him.  He could not tell if it set her at ease or perplexed her further.  He imagined it had to be the latter. 

“Why is the Hound in my living room right now?” Arya demanded as she darted over to Ned and sat on the armrest of the recliner.   

“He gave your sister a ride home,” Ned responded, rocking back and forth in the chair. 

All eyes in the room were on him once more: Arya and Ned staring at him from the recliner, Catelyn cutting subtle glances in between sips of her iced tea, and Sansa shyly gazing up at him through her eye lashes, a delicate smile on her lips. 

Sandor cleared his throat to ease the tension and began studying the grandfather clock to his left, certain that if he looked anywhere else a pair of Stark eyes would be watching him. This fucking family was like a pack of wolves. 

“Well, I need to finish a few things for dinner,” Catelyn finally interrupted as she stood up with a sigh and shuffled from the room.  At that, Arya jumped up from the recliner and dashed across the room towards Sandor in a few quick steps.  Wrapping both of her small hands around one of his, she began tugging on him to get up, digging her heels in the carpet and letting out a low grunt to get him to move. 

“I have to show you my tape collection! And my Garbage Pail Kids collection!” she informed excitedly as Sandor eased himself up off of the couch. 

“He’s a musician, Arya,” Ned chuckled as he stood up from the recliner. “The man’s probably more interested in my vinyl collection.”  With that, Ned patted Sandor on the back as he shook his head.  “I don’t understand the appeal of cassette tapes.  And now these compact discs. It’s a shame.  Unfortunately, you’ll have to humor her,” he added as he motioned his head towards Arya. 

“Aren’t you a little old to be collecting Garbage Pail Kids still?”

Sandor heard the sing-song timbre of Sansa’s voice to the right of him, the girl quietly manifesting by his side as Arya continued to tug him towards the staircase.

“Bite me, Sansa,” Arya retorted with a mirthless smile and her head slightly cocked to the side.  “Shouldn’t you be at the mall or something with your bimbo friends?”

With an offended gasp, Sansa’s mouth hung open, her cheeks flushing with anger as her brow furrowed.  Sandor felt a rumble of a laugh ease from his lips as he shook his head.  While Sansa wasn’t exactly intimidating when angry, she sure as hell was fucking cute. 

Before they could continue on, a boy - one of Sansa’s brothers - began descending the stairs, a Rubik’s Cube in hand.  With fast movements, the boy - who possessed his mother’s auburn hair and blue eyes but his father’s stern and solemn countenance - twisted the block, the colored squares rotating at great speed as his eyes remained focused on his task. 

When he reached the bottom landing, the kid looked up, apparently startled when his eyes landed on Sandor.

“This is my brother Bran,” Sansa spoke. “Bran, this is Sandor Clegane.”

With a small smile, the boy held out his hand, looking up at Sandor as he mouthed an almost silent “hello”, before resuming his focus on the Rubik’s Cube and continuing on towards the kitchen.

With another tug on his arm, Arya was leading him upstairs, chattering along the way about all her favorite metal bands: her preference for Ronnie James Dio over Ozzie Osbourne, her love of Iron Maiden, her distaste of Motorhead.  By the time they had made their way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, Arya had given him a complete run down of her musical tastes, or so it seemed.  Sansa had quietly trailed behind them.

No sooner had they stepped foot into what appeared to be a shared bedroom between Sansa and Arya than another boy appeared in the doorway dressed in a He-Man costume, the mask of which was propped up on the kid’s head.  A mop of auburn curls spilled out from underneath the mask as he stared up at Arya with wide blue eyes.  Sandor chuckled to himself.  It seemed Stark children were crawling out of the woodwork.  Any second now, he’d be faced with the myriad of older brothers Sansa had. 

“I can’t get past this level on  _Paperboy,_ ” the little boy whined as he tugged insistently on Arya’s arm. 

“Have Bran help you, Rickon. Can’t you see I’m busy right now?” she responded brusquely, shaking her little brother off as she pulled out a large plastic bin of cassette tapes from under her bed. 

“He doesn’t play anymore,” the kid insisted. “Please,” he added with a pout as he stuck out his bottom lip. 

Sighing deeply, Arya swept her gaze up to Sansa and then to Sandor.  In the corner of his vision, Sandor could see Sansa shrug her shoulders.

“Fine! But that’s it!” Arya finally conceded. 

With Rickon pulling Arya out of the room by her hand, it seemed both Sandor and Sansa came to the simultaneous realization that they were alone in her room.  Sansa stood off to the left of him, fumbling mindlessly with the ends of her sleeves, which she had pressed against the palms of her hands. 

Walking towards the center of the room, Sandor took in the sight of what appeared to be her side: her pastel pink bedding with a few stuffed animals set against her pillows, a poster of  _The Breakfast Club_  hanging on the wall next to her bed, a pink radio perched on her desk. Sandor shifted his eyes towards the other half of the room, the stark contrast almost laughable. Among the disarray on Arya’s side, he could see the scattered collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards, a  _Gremlins_ lunchbox, as well as other collectibles, and on the wall he spotted a row of posters, starting with Lita Ford and ending with Cannibal Star. 

“What’s that?” Sandor queried with a smug smile as he motioned his head towards the poster. 

“Oh. That’s Arya’s,” Sansa informed almost immediately.  Clearly, it wasn’t her idea to hang a Cannibal Star poster in her bedroom, but her cheeks became flush all the same.

With a grumbling laugh, Sandor strode towards her bed and plopped himself down, careful to leave his feet dangling off the side of the bed as he reclined back with his hands behind his head.  Her pillow held the sweet scent he was now associating with her.

 “You’ve got a pretty clear view from here,” Sandor spoke through a wicked grin as he turned his head towards Arya’s side of the room and the poster hanging next to her bed. 

At that, Sansa averted her eyes away from the poster, looking down at her feet as she shifted from side to side. 

“I’m not gonna lie,” Sandor chuckled as he steadied his eyes on Sansa, who was now looking up at him through her lashes, biting her bottom lip in some sort of conspiracy to drive him fucking mad.  “It’s kind of hot to think about you staring at me while you’re in your bed.”

“You would think that,” she giggled. “It’s not as if I fall asleep staring at your picture like some adoring fan.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about you falling asleep while looking at my picture,” Sandor intoned on a deep, husky voice as he sat up slowly.  “I was thinking of other activities you might do alone in your bed while looking at my picture.”

Sandor watched as Sansa’s eyes widened and a blush emerged across her cheeks.  As he pushed himself up from the bed and walked towards her in slow, deliberate steps, her chest began to steadily rise and fall.   

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she haughtily replied, although the words came weak. 

“Playing coy now, are we?” Sandor rasped, his deviance surely given away by the way his eyes were raking up and down her form.  “Shut your door, take your clothes off, and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

Sansa stood unmoving where she was as he approached her, the space between them mere inches as he stared down at her.  Pulling in a deep breath, Sansa met his eyes, her face placid despite the deep red of her cheeks.  In careful movements, she walked backwards to the door and pushed it closed quietly.  With her back against the door, she reached for the bottom hem of her sweater, pulling it up slowly as she held his eyes.

When the hem of her sweater moved above the top of her leggings, she stilled her movements, a small sliver of her midriff still visible.  

“You calling my bluff?” Sandor demanded as he narrowed his eyes at her. 

“What if I am?” she responded, releasing her hold on her sweater and letting it fall back in place over her leggings.

“You’d only be half right,” Sandor retorted as he began traversing the distance between them once more. 

She’d surely deny it, but Sansa Stark was a fucking minx - pressing her full tits against his back, slowly grinding against him as she straddled herself behind him on the bike.  His cock had been half-hard the entire drive to her place and was fully erect now as he moved closer towards her.  She had come out of left field by asking him if he planned on taking her out. 

The truth of the matter was that he had thought about that but didn’t quite think to ask in that moment.  The girl was on top of her shit, though.  Sandor would have undoubtedly drove off, only thinking on it later and realizing he had missed the opportunity to solidify their next rendezvous while he had the chance.  It was brilliant thinking on her part. 

With his hands engulfing the sides of her hips now, Sandor couldn’t help the thoughts that flooded his mind: her hips bucking against him, just like they had on the back of his bike, how she surely wasn’t as innocent as she made herself out to be. True enough, he believed that she wasn’t some hussy, but he sensed a curiosity in her, a willingness to explore her wild side if the right person came around.  He hoped he was that right person. 

“I’d be full on right,” Sansa corrected on a sighing breath.  “For all your talk, you won’t do anything with my parents around.”

Moving his hands from her hips and pressing them against the door on either side of her head, Sandor bent forward slightly so that he was eye level with Sansa.  For the second time today, he let his mouth hover just over hers as he spoke.  And just like earlier, she craned her neck ever so slightly towards him, her anticipation clear as she stared back at him.

“You’ve got me on that, yes.  But you’re missing the other part of it,” he murmured, his eyes fixated on her lips as he watched them part.

“What’s the other part of it?” she whispered, moving closer to him as if to close the distance between them. Sandor pulled away from her slightly, exhaling a low chuckle as she gave a pout.  Instead, he made it up to her by brushing his lips along the length of her neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, interspersed with gentle licks.

“I plan on making good on all my talk,” he gently spoke in her ear. He was close enough now that with each frantic intake of breath, Sansa’s breasts swept against his chest.  He felt her arms wrap tentatively around his middle, her nails softly scratching at his back. “I’m going to give you a ride and make you say please,” he continued.  Shifting to the other side of her neck, he lavished his attentions there, each kiss terminating so that he could speak and then beginning again after every other word. “I’m going to show you all the things I want you to do to yourself while you’re alone in your bed, staring at my picture.  And I’ll have you moaning my name while I’m on top of you or you’re on top of me. It doesn’t quite matter to me.  Either way, you’re going to be taught a lesson in what happens when you try to call my bluff.” 

When Sandor shifted away from Sansa, he could see the desire accumulating behind her wide-eyed gaze. She was scandalized, to be sure, but exhilarated, it would seem. Her breathing was ragged, her lips moist from licking them, her fingers insistently pressing into his waist as she gently fisted the fabric of his shirt. Leaning in, Sandor placed a soft kiss to her lips and gave a quick, exploratory lick there before pulling way.

“But none of this while we’re underneath your parents’ roof,” he declared with finality and a smirk of delight at the sight of Sansa’s apparent disappointment.  Reaching down in his pants, Sandor adjusted himself, tucking the hardened length of his cock against the waistband of his boxers.  Sansa watched his movements, but her eyes flickered away in embarrassment when he winked at her, having caught her in the act of staring as he adjusted himself.

“There will be plenty of time for show and tell later,” he intoned devilishly as Sansa let out a tiny gasp of shock at his words.  “Right now, though, your parents are probably wondering what we’re doing up here.”

With a vacant nod, Sansa opened the door, smoothing down the front of her sweater and the length of her hair before stepping out in the hallway.  Arya and the littlest Stark, Rickon, fell in after them and emerged in the kitchen with Sansa and Sandor, their time alone in Sansa’s bedroom hardly apparent. 

Ned offered Sandor a seat next to him as Sansa went about helping her mother divvy out dishes and silverware around the table. 

“I’m He-Man!”

A muffled little grunt sounded next to Sandor in time with a firm tug on his arm.  Swiveling his gaze over his shoulder to the seat beside him, Sandor was met with the masked face of He-Man as Rickon flexed his muscles. 

“I can see that,” Sandor chuckled as the kid claimed the spot next to Sandor by scooting his chair closer to the table and dipping a finger into the water glass at his place setting. 

“I think you’ve got a friend,” Sansa spoke through a beaming smile as she handed a napkin to her father and then to Sandor. 

“What happened to your face?” Rickon questioned with curiosity as he pushed his mask back up onto his head.

“Rickon!” Sansa shrieked, obviously horrified by her little brother’s question.  Sandor let a wry smirk settle on his face. 

“I had a run in with Skeletor,” he spoke gravely.

Rickon’s face was awash with wonderment and delight as he bounced in his seat, staring up at Sandor in apparent awe.

“Don’t worry, I beat him,” Sandor added with a wink.  In the kitchen, Catelyn gave a warm laugh, the tension she had earlier held having disappeared now as she carried over bowls and platters of food and set them at the center of the table.

Catelyn took a seat to Ned’s left with Arya beside her and Bran at the opposite end of the table as Ned, still fiddling with his Rubik’s Cube as food was being passed around. Sansa seated herself on the other side of Rickon and helped put food on his plate.  Sandor couldn’t help stealing a glance at her momentarily, one which was returned along with a sweet smile.  Across the table, Arya was evaluating both of them through narrowed eyes as she shoveled food into her mouth.    

Having stuffed himself full of bacon and pancakes not  even few hours ago, Sandor found he wasn’t hungry.  Sansa must have been in the same boat, for the food on her plate was scarce. 

“Sansa, you’re not eating much,” Catelyn commented between dainty bites of potato. “I thought you loved my pot roast.”

Taking a sip of water, Sansa lowered her eyes.

“I do.  I’m just not very hungry.”

Arya had been staring at Sandor’s plate, which was similarly sparse in terms of food.  The girl seemed to be putting two and two together; by his size alone, Sandor appeared to be the type of man who could eat anyone out of house and home.  And normally, he would be. 

Not much else was said on Catelyn’s part, and the meal proceeded with light conversation.  Ned and Catelyn took turns asking their children how school was or discussing the events the family had planned for the upcoming week.  Intrigued by their dinner guest, Sandor was asked a myriad of questions: where he was from, how long he’d been a mechanic, if he thought he’d continue his career as a musician.  When asked about his own family, Sandor had skirted around the issue much like he always did.  Sansa had shifted a sympathetic look to him then and immediately changed the subject to spare him the discomfort of talking about his family or lack thereof.

“You know, I used to play in a band. A long, long time ago,” Ned informed after a lull in conversation.

From across the table, Arya snorted a laugh as she sopped up gravy from her plate with half of a dinner roll.    

“Yeah right! What did you play? The triangle?” the girl asked.   

Leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed about his chest, Ned sported a nostalgic smile, apparently happy that one of his children was engaging him in conversations of his good ole’ days. 

“I played the guitar,” he noted before turning a glance towards Catelyn shuffling about in the kitchen as she cleared the table.  “That’s how I met your mother.  She came to one of my shows one night, and the rest, as they say, is history.” 

Returning his smile, Sansa’s mother began scooping leftover food into Tupperware containers.  Sansa had removed herself from the table as she helped her mother.    

“That’s not quite how it happened, my love,” Catelyn corrected dotingly.  “I originally had eyes for your brother and came to see him.” 

 “Was your band any good?” Sansa asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ned cast his eyes towards the ceiling in thought, unaware that his wife had just mouthed the word “no” with an adamant shake of the head.

“Oh, sure.  We had a few songs that went over well and even had our own little following around town.  Robert wasn’t so great at keeping a tune, but he was in it for the girls mostly.  Your Uncle Brandon quit the band, and Jon Arryn decided he was getting a bit too old to be rocking out with us.”

At that, the Stark children snickered in laughter, even Rickon, who hadn’t been following the conversation and couldn’t know what his siblings found so amusing.

From across the kitchen, Sandor could feel a pair of eyes on him.  Lifting his gaze, Sansa was staring at him, her lips curled up ever so slightly in the corners. Discreetly, Sandor returned her smile before she shyly looked away and continued helping her mother.  Once more, Arya seemed to notice; her head shifted between Sansa and Sandor before giving an exaggerated eye roll. 

Delighted to have another musician to talk to, Ned regaled Sandor of his days in a band: how he had had hair down to the middle of his back, how he and his band mates traveled to gigs in a carpeted Volkswagen van, how his front man, Robert, had almost convinced Ned to light his guitar on fire just like Hendrix had. In return, Sandor explained to Ned his own experiences in the music business.  The evening ended with Ned showing Sandor his guitar, a dusty old Les Paul that he had stored away in the closet of the den.  Sandor offered the name of a guy in town he knew who could fix it up on the cheap, which Ned gratefully accepted.

After thanking Ned and Catelyn for dinner and signing Arya’s Cannibal Star poster for her after she begged him to, Sandor made his way out to his bike parked in the driveway.  With her hands tucked gently in front of her, Sansa followed him out and settled in front of him as he sat sidesaddle on the bike with his back to the house.

“Thank you again for everything,” Sansa spoke sweetly as she met his gaze.  “I know my family is a lot to handle in one sitting.  And you didn’t even meet the older brothers.”  With that, she gave a small laugh and a smile flashed across her lips.   

“Your family is great,” Sandor chuckled, running his fingers through his hair.  He hadn’t known what to expect from Sansa’s family beyond her little sister, who was the polar opposite of Sansa.  Despite operating on a different wavelength than him, Sandor was happily surprised to find that the Starks were down to earth and easy to talk to.

Sansa shifted closer to him, her eyes down turned as she chewed her bottom lip.  Tucking one hand under her chin, he tilted her head up to look at him, brushing his thumb along her bottom lip.

“Until Saturday then,” he rasped.

“Yes. Saturday. A proper date.”  Sansa smiled and leaned into his touch as he now swept his thumb across her cheek.

“A proper kiss too,” Sandor said with a half smile as he matched his eyes to hers.  She held his stare, her chest beginning to rise and fall now in a quickened tempo. 

“You better believe I’d finish what we started right now, but I’m almost certain we have an audience,” he continued with a rumbling chuckle.  Sansa shifted her gaze to the house behind him, smiling knowingly.

“Yup.  We sure do.  Arya and Bran are watching from my bedroom.”  Lifting her hand, Sansa waved towards the window and let out a soft giggle.  “Saturday then.”

Taking slow steps, Sansa backed away from his bike, watching as Sandor strapped on his helmet and began backing out of the driveway. 

“Goodnight, Sandor,” she spoke quietly through a smile.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” he replied before starting the engine and riding out of her neighborhood.   

* * *

 Perched against an “out of order _” Donkey Kong_  machine, Sansa watched as her sister navigated her frog across the screen of the arcade game she was playing.  She had never taken an interest in what Arya and Gendry did on weekends, but decided to join the two of them for their Friday night ritual of pizza and arcade games. 

Between bites of greasy pepperoni pizza, Gendry and Arya had debated whether or not to attend the Cannibal Star gig that was going on across town.  Sansa had felt the steady increase of her heart’s beating as the two of them argued playfully over the pros and cons of trying to make the show.  Sansa had listened to them go back and forth, feeling a slow heat move through her as she kept quiet. 

Ultimately, Gendry had reasoned that by the time they drove across town, parked, and waited to get into the venue, the band would be almost finished with their first set.  And that wasn’t even factoring in the issue of it being a twenty-one and up show. Arya had begrudgingly admitted that Gendry was right and that they would catch the show next weekend.  Occupied for now with  _Frogger_  as Gendry tried to beat the top score of  _Tron_ , Arya continued her frantic movements of the joystick as she bit her bottom lip in concentration.  When her last frog was squashed by a zooming taxi cab, Arya cursed beneath her breath and turned a defeated stare towards Sansa.

“What’s your damage?”Arya grumbled as the two of them walked back to their designated table and sat down.

“What do you mean?” Sansa replied defensively, although she knew she had been a downer for the majority of the evening - stewing over her thoughts rather than actively engaging her sister and Gendry.  

“You said you wanted to tag along to play  _Mrs. Pacman_ ,” Arya noted in between sips of her root beer.  “ _Mrs. Pacman_  is yours for the taking.”  With that, Arya motioned her head towards the game, which was devoid of anyone playing it. 

It seemed Sansa would have to give up the ghost.  After getting over the initial giddiness of her date with Sandor, Sansa had remembered that the Hardyng’s were coming over on Saturday for dinner. Her father had told her in passing when she stopped by his office, and Sansa had completely forgotten when she agreed to a date with Sandor.  Even if she wanted to reschedule with him, Sansa quickly realized she did not have his number.  All she had was his business card with his work number.  She had thought to call the auto shop he worked at and explain the situation, but found that when she picked up the phone, her fingers refused to dial the number.  Instead, she’d placed the phone back on its cradle and decided that she would have to come up with some way to ditch the Hardyng’s on Saturday. Besides, the thought of canceling with Sandor left her awash with disappointment. 

Sansa had answered a million and one questions from her little sister in regards to her run-in with Sandor.  It seemed Arya was content to bug her until Sansa confessed some sort of secret Arya was sure she was hiding.  Her little sister was irritatingly observant; she conjured up evidence of lengthy eye contact and the fact that neither Sansa nor Sandor ate much during dinner as the basis of her accusation that something had happened between the two of them.   

Sansa had held onto her secret, refusing to indulge her sister.  Her parents had asked her a million questions too.  However, their questions revolved mostly around her run-in with Joffrey.  Her father had seemed particularly concerned and almost hurt that she hadn’t confided in him when she stopped by his office. 

While she certainly wasn’t going to tell her parents about her date with Sandor, Sansa wanted to tell her sister, if nothing more than to get her advice on what to do about the scheduling issue. 

“Can I tell you something?” Sansa finally began, chewing on her soda straw as she stared at Arya from across the table.

When her sister met her eyes, she gave a pained sigh. 

“Is this going to be a sister heart-to-heart?” Arya whined. 

 “Arya, please,” Sansa pleaded as she cocked her head to the side.

“Fine.  Spill it,” her sister finally conceded.  

“I’m going on a date tomorrow night,” she offered haltingly as she gauged her sister’s reaction. Sansa waited for Arya to make some sort of flippant statement taunting Sansa for one thing or another. Instead, Arya looked entirely bored with the information as she gave a disinterested shrug of the shoulders.

“And you thought I’d give a shit about that?” Arya groaned. “It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

“Harry?” Sansa repeated incredulously.  “Why would you think it’s Harry?”

“He’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night, and you have a thing for rich assholes,” Arya commented.

Sansa realized now that, despite her sister’s curiosity about Sansa’s interaction with Sandor, Arya wasn’t connecting the dots.  If anything, Sansa imagined that Arya never in a million years expected her sister to be going on a date with a guy from a metal band. 

“It’s not Harry,” Sansa corrected quietly, eying her sister nervously.

“Who is it?” Arya demanded.

Without a word, Sansa felt a smile creep across her lips as she held her sister’s impatient and curious stare. She watched as understanding bloomed across Arya’s face and as her sister’s eyes went wide as saucers.

“You can’t be serious!” Arya shrieked out, eliciting stares from the people seated around them. “Gendry! Sansa is going on a date with the  _fucking_ Hound!” Arya screamed across the arcade towards Gendry, who turned around with disbelief coloring his features. 

“Arya! Keep your voice down!” Sansa pleaded.  Not listening or paying her any mind, Arya jumped up in her seat, arms outstretched as she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

“My sister is going on a date with the fucking Hound from Cannibal Star!” After giving a tiny bow, Arya plopped back down in her seat.  By now, Gendry had made his way over to them, a million-watt grin plastered to his face as he sat down next to Arya and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

“There’s a problem though,” Sansa informed.  “He’s picking me up at seven tomorrow night, and I can almost guarantee the Hardyng’s will still be over.”

Sansa chewed her bottom lip as she toiled over the situation, trying to puzzle out what to do.

“We need a plan,” Arya stated suddenly as she lowered her voice.  “When seven rolls around, I’ll create a distraction and you can sneak out,” she added conspiratorially. 

 “That’s a terrible plan,” Gendry snorted with a laugh and a shake of his head.  “It’s not going to work.”

“How do you know? I’m great at shit like this!” Arya fired back as she shot her boyfriend an offended look.

“Oh, really? Is that how you got caught sneaking out to see me then?”

Ignoring Gendry for now, Arya settled her eyes on Sansa once more.

 “Seriously.  When seven rolls around, I’ll figure out a way to distract everyone. Have your purse or whatever crap you plan on bringing ready to go by the door. That way you can just bolt.  I’ll tell Mom and Dad you had something you had to do for that bimbo cult you’re a part of.”

“It’s called a sorority,” Sansa corrected with a roll of the eyes.

“It’s a cult of bimbos,” was Arya’s retort. 

Sansa felt the disappointment welling up in her once more.  She doubted she could actually pull off ditching dinner with the Hardyngs. Maybe Sandor would understand.  She hoped he would and wouldn’t take her request to reschedule as a cheap ploy to get out of their date. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa began dejectedly.  “Maybe I can reschedule.”

“No!” Arya shouted from across the table before calming herself and leveling an intense stare on Sansa. “Come hell or high water, you will go on a date with the Hound.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love for this story! I truly appreciate it. I apologize for taking awhile to update! 
> 
> A special thank you to Mendedheart, for beta'ing and for envisioning Rickon as being a He-Man enthusiast. 
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be the date :)


	7. No One Like You

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Seven

"I can't wait for the nights with you

I imagine the things we'll do..."

_No One Like You,_ Scorpions

* * *

 

Sandor called bullshit on every musician he had met who claimed that they lived for the thrill of being on stage.  Complete and utter _bullshit._

He had just finished the encore of _“_ Green Fires, Black Water”, the wailing guitar solo being the highlight of the longest song Cannibal Star had recorded to date.  By now, he was covered in a layer of sweat. It rolled in beads down his bare chest and abs.  He had ditched his shirt halfway through the first set.  The pounding heat of the stage lights had been too much to bear. Much to the delight of the group of women who had pushed their way up to the front of the stage, he had pulled the sweat-soaked T-shirt off and tossed it into the crowd, watching in amusement as half a dozen women damn near clawed each others’ eyes out to snatch it up. 

Now, the stage lights burned hot against his skin and blinded him to the majority of the venue. It was the largest one they had played in town since their last tour ended. By his estimate, it was a sold out show. The machines that billowed out thick blankets of smoke onto the stage made him feel claustrophobic. He had told Beric to ditch the damn things but to no avail. While Sandor thought it was fucking hokey, the front man was all about aesthetics and keeping up with the proverbial Joneses of the mainstream metal scene.  

When the song finally came to its end, the lights cut out and the crowd went berserk, screaming and wailing for yet another encore. A pair of red lace panties went whirling by Sandor’s head and landed in front of Thoros’ drum kit. Whether they were meant for him or for Thoros, Sandor didn’t care to find out.  

Through the dimness of light on stage, Sandor could see Beric shifting his gaze between his band mates. The man’s eyes searched out any traces of approval at playing just one more song.  Sandor knew how this went; an encore for an encore for an encore.  You give these greedy fuckers in the crowd _just one more,_ and they’ll demand as many as they please. 

Shaking his head, Sandor unburdened himself from his guitar and bounded off towards the backstage area. He squinted against the fluorescent lights of the corridor and ignored the giggles of a few groupies waiting at the dressing room door.  As he approached, the girl leaning against the doorframe lifted the loose fabric of her crop top shirt to expose her tits to him. Finding himself wholly uninterested, Sandor responded with a roll of his eyes and a snort.  He vaguely caught the breathy sound of the girl’s whiny protests as he pushed through the door and slammed it behind him, presumably in the face of the fucking twat who thought to gain passage by showing off the goods. 

He snatched up a beer from a cooler and took a greedy pull from the bottle, the cool sensation feeling fantastic as he swallowed it down. Plopping down into a large club chair with a sigh, Sandor wiped the sweat from his brow. When a light knock came at the door, he ignored it.  Normally, he’d be more than happy to entertain a willing groupie for the evening. In terms of sexual appetite, he gave the rest of his band mates a run for their money.  However, Sandor didn’t have Bronn’s swagger, Beric’s sex appeal as a front man, Harwin’s conventional good looks, or Thoros’ charisma. The women flocked to him because of his size (assuming his dick was proportional to his height) and his aloofness; they saw a challenge in him.  Tonight, Sandor wasn’t in the mood for it.  Tonight, his mind had been on a certain redhead – the sweetness of her lips, although he only got a small taste, the smiles she gave him, the fact that he was taking her out tomorrow night and had no idea where the fuck to take her.  He was out of his league with this one, and even more so, out of his element.    

Sandor’s thoughts were interrupted as another knock came at the door, this time more insistent and sending a wave of irritation to sour his mood. Flying up from his seat and traversing the room in a few pounding steps, Sandor yanked the door open as he growled out a response. 

“Go bark up another tree, you cum dumpsters.” 

In the doorway, the groupies were gone, having moved on to a more receptive recipient of their attentions. In their place was Sansa’s sister, Arya, and her boyfriend, Gendry.  

“Well, aren’t you just a charmer? Did you bag a date with my sister with that mouth?” Arya questioned sardonically as she cocked an eyebrow at him.

Sandor exhaled a chuckle at the irony of the girl’s words as he stared down at her. _I very well may have bagged a date with this mouth…and I plan to get another with it too…_  

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else,” he mumbled with a shake of the head before fully registering the girl’s words. “Wait. How the fuck do you know about my date with Sansa?” 

“Duh! We’re sisters!” Arya taunted him, as if he were a moron for not connecting the dots.   
“Besides, I saw the way you looked at her at the dinner table last night.” 

Sandor watched as the girl glared up at him, her words accusatory as she prodded a finger against his chest in emphasis.  

“The two of you were _ridiculous_! My parents are either blind or stupid for not noticing.”

For as small as she was, Arya seemed fearless – something that was likely to get her into trouble one of these days. 

“Watch it, girl! I’m not in the mood for this shit,” Sandor warned on a growl before taking another swig of his beer.  With a quick glance up and down the corridor, he found it empty and quiet for the time being. “How the fuck did you get back here anyway?” 

“We snuck in,” Arya admitted nonchalantly with a shrug. “Dropped Sansa off and came here.”

Sandor furrowed his brow at that, his interest suddenly piqued.   

“She didn’t want to come with you?” he asked as he willed his voice towards indifference. The last thing he needed was Arya somehow sniffing out his vested interest in the matter of her sister. 

“She doesn’t know we’re here,” Arya replied quietly, as if it were supposed to be some sort of secret. 

“Why are you here then?” Sandor demanded with a grumble.  He liked Arya and all, but unless she came with her sister in tow, Sandor wasn’t interested in entertaining the girl.  

“I knew we shouldn’t have bothered you,” Gendry cut in, defeated as he shook his head.  “I’m sorry. I tried to talk her out of it-”

“I don’t give a shit one way or another,” Sandor interrupted bluntly. “You’re not bothering me,” he added, although it was a bit of a lie.  Like all of the gigs he played, he preferred unwinding alone after coming off stage – enjoying a beer or two in solitude.

Sandor retreated away from the door and back inside the room, easing down in the club chair once more as he propped his feet up on an empty plastic crate.  Arya was quick after him, scampering into the room at his heels and plopping down in the seat adjacent to him. Gendry followed her with some trepidation, clearly still concerned about imposing. Sandor handed the kid a beer from the cooler, an attempt at getting him to loosen up a bit.  

“I’m here because my sister has a real talent for dating supreme douche bags,” Arya declared matter-of-factly.  

With his head shooting up, Sandor glowered at the girl.  She had some fucking nerve, busting in here and insulting him. 

“I don’t mean it like that!” Arya quickly corrected. “Look, you’re the only _cool_ guy she’s ever gone out with. My dad likes you. He didn’t say so, but I can tell. Rickon won’t stop talking about you, and my mom even admitted you’re a nice guy.” 

Sandor couldn’t help but snort at that, rolling his eyes as he watched how Arya was about damn near pleading with him; for what, he didn’t quite know.  

“Your mom doesn’t know me from fucking Adam then,” he chuckled darkly.  

True enough, he wasn’t planning on breaking Sansa’s heart and giving Catelyn a reason to hate him.  But there were plenty of other things he planned on doing with her daughter that the woman wasn’t going to approve of.  Sandor bit his bottom lip hard at the thought.  _If only Ned and Catelyn had any idea what was going on in Sansa’s bedroom last night…_    

“Have you ever taken a girl like my sister out before?” Arya questioned suddenly, cocking her head to the side in obvious interest.  

“I’ve never met a girl worth taking out,” Sandor replied with a shrug. “Before Sansa, that is.”

Shooting up out of her chair, Arya stood in front of him, a look of disbelief plastered on her face.  

“Hold the goddamn phone! Is this your first date?” the girl demanded incredulously, her eyes wide with amusement. 

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Sandor responded immediately and with a fair bit of irritation. “No! Of course not.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; Sandor had been with plenty of women. To say that he dated any of them was a stretch. There were a few that captured his interest and ones he wouldn’t exactly have minded seeing again. However, they all fizzled out quickly – the initial attraction and exhilaration falling away to ultimately lead to mutual disappointment.  He hated shallow and vapid women.  They hated the fact that he didn’t lead an opulent rock star lifestyle.    

“Where are you taking her?” Gendry inquired as he pulled Arya onto his lap, more to corral the girl than anything, it would seem. 

“Shit. I don’t know yet,” Sandor answered with a sigh as he ran one hand over his face and through the length of his hair.  “Dinner and somewhere else,” he added with a shrug.  

His attention was roused as he heard Arya give an exasperated sigh.  

“Mormont’s Steak House is her favorite restaurant,” she informed. “Call ahead and make sure that they have the lemon cakes on the dessert menu.  Sansa loves lemon cakes.  She likes girly, romantic shit too.”

“So you busted in here just to tell me what to do for my date tomorrow night?” Sandor questioned with a chuckle. Although Arya was clearly a handful to deal with, he had to admit he was grateful for her input. He wasn’t likely to come up with these ideas on his own. 

“She’s something else, I know,” Gendry added in agreement as he shook his head. Before Arya could protest his teasing, Gendry pressed a kiss to the girl’s cheek in obvious affection.  

“Fine,” Sandor grumbled. “Steak house, lemon cakes, and some romantic shit afterwards. Got it.” 

“Good!” Arya exclaimed, bouncing a bit on Gendry’s lap. “When you pick her up, don’t come to the door. She’ll come out to your car.” 

“Girl, I wasn’t born yesterday,” Sandor growled. “I’ll come to the fucking door and get her, like a _real_ knight in shining armor since, apparently, she likes that sort of thing.”  It wasn’t that Sandor minded being on his best behavior with Sansa. In fact, he found himself agonizing over how to keep from disappointing her. Pulling up in front of her house and blaring his horn for her to come out wasn’t his idea of making a good impression. 

“No! Just trust me,” Arya insisted as she matched Sandor’s eyes. “Park on the street, and she’ll come out to you.  Don’t come to the door.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes at Arya, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh.  

“You’re a strange one, kid,” he murmured before polishing off the last gulp of his beer.  

“I’m not a kid!” Arya corrected as she hopped up from Gendry’s lap to stand. “We’ve got to go. It’s already past my curfew.” Gendry followed Arya to the door, turning to wave at Sandor before leaving. 

Sandor watched as Arya hovered in the door frame momentarily before turning around to face him. 

“Take care of my sister,” she spoke quietly, almost gently, as her eyes sought him out from across the room. 

“That I can do,” Sandor responded sincerely with a half smile and a slight nod of the head.   

* * *

 

_Oh, god. He knows. Just don’t look at him._

Clutching the railing, Sansa continued down the stairs. Heels an inch too high and a dress a bit shorter than the ones she normally would wear for such an awkward occasion, she took each step gracefully, minding the way her heel slid slightly on the slick hardwood of the staircase. From the living room, her father was staring at her.  She had heard the rustling of his newspaper and caught how it lowered ever so slightly so that he might evaluate her choice of attire. _He knows.  I would never wear something like this for a night entertaining the Hardyngs._

When she reached the foyer, Sansa made a bee line for the kitchen, heels clicking hurriedly against the floor.  If anyone might comment on her outfit – sky blue dress with a pleated skirt skimming dangerously high above her knees, bare shoulders and strappy, nude heels – she’d lie.  Arya had lying down to a rare and hardly admirable art form replete with feigned sincerity and an acute awareness of body language. This trait seemed to be blissfully absent in Sansa’s genes.  Regardless, she would try.  Push come to shove, she’d make up some drivel about having her eye on Harry Hardyng. Her mother would surely appreciate that bit long enough for the fib to go unchallenged.  

Seated at the counter, she found Arya lazily cutting cherry tomatoes in half before tossing them in a bowl of spinach, looking bored out of her mind as they landed with a soft plop.  Their mother was meticulously tending to her famous lamb shanks, her culinary crowning achievement and something obviously meant to “wow” the Hardyng palettes.   

“You look very nice, Sansa,” her mother remarked as her eyes flickered towards Sansa, curiosity forming behind the woman’s gaze but never manifesting into questions. 

“Thanks, Mom,” she responded gratefully before being set to the task of julienning carrots.  Somewhere between the second and third carrot, Sansa caught the heaviness of her sister’s eyes on her.  Turning to look, Arya was staring at her, a smug grin creasing about her lips as she shook her head. 

“What?” Sansa mouthed at her sister silently, to which she was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a taunting shake of the head.  

Their silent exchange was cut short as their mother settled herself across the counter from them and began helping Sansa with the salad. 

“I’m just so pleased we could finally have this dinner with the Hardyngs. I’ve been trying to get them over here for ages.” 

Stifling a groan, Sansa exchanged glances with her sister, who looked just as unimpressed.  

“Why? They’re such pretentious pricks,” Arya blurted out scathingly.  

Years ago, when Sansa and her family moved to Winnetka, the Hardyngs had been the first to welcome them into the neighborhood: the first to saunter over with fake smiles and a store-bought apple pie, the first to begin not-so-subtly keeping tabs on the comings and goings of the family, and the first to begin gossiping behind their backs with all the other neighbor busybodies.  Her mother wanted them to fit in and seemed genuinely hurt by the Stark family’s exclusion from neighborhood activities.  Her mother would have given up ages ago, but Mrs. Hardyng was a prominent member on the HOA committee and made no bones about throwing her weight around, effectually shunning those she considered “unfit” to be a part of the neighborhood clique of snobs.  Those who found themselves in her proverbial crosshairs eventually opted for moving to a different neighborhood rather than dealing with Hardass Hardyng, as she was called.  

“Arya, for one evening could you just behave yourself?” their mother pleaded, lips pursed with in unamused frown.  

Sighing, Arya seemed to relent as she tossed the last of the tomatoes into the salad bowl. 

“Only because you’re asking,” her sister responded. “Not because I actually like the people. Mrs. Hardyng’s ass has its own gravitational pull.” 

Sansa couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips at that.  Spurred on by Sansa’s laugher, Arya continued, her face flushing red as she too began to laugh through her words.

“Seriously, you could orbit planets around that thing, and Mr. Hardyng should be spending Saturday nights at AA meetings, not boozing it up in our living room. And Harry might as well be coronated as King of the Douches, successor to Joffrey Baratheon, ass hat extraordinaire.”

Sansa gasped for breaths as she clutched her side, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughed so hard her stomach ached.  Arya was rendered into much the same condition, more amused by the reaction she was getting than anything else.  Even their mother began to break a small smile.  Somewhere behind them, Sansa’s father had manifested, reaching between Sansa and Arya to snatch a piece of tomato out of the salad.

“I can’t say I disagree with any of that,” he mumbled quietly, raising his eyes to his wife with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh, not you too!” Sansa’s mother giggled with a beaming smile as she chucked a piece of carrot at her husband.

“Mom, there’s no two ways around it! They’re a family of tools,” Arya declared, breathless from laughing and smiling like crazy.  

As the scent of black pepper and rosemary lamb shanks began to waft throughout the kitchen a few hours later, the family of tools rang the doorbell to indicate their arrival.  The table had been set – china plates and crystal glassware pulled out of their resting place in the china cabinet – and hor d'oeuvres were neatly arranged on serving platters.  

Standing in the living room with Arya and Rickon, Sansa heard gleeful greetings pouring from the foyer.  There were exchanged compliments, a slew of empty “thank yous” and “we should have done this ages ago”.  

Mrs. Hardyng wasted no time making herself a plate of hor d’oeuvres while Mr. Hardyng requested a double shot of bourbon on the rocks.  Sansa had spotted Harry as he walked in, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his corduroys as he sported a bored expression on his face, which was framed by tousled, dark blond locks. More greetings were exchanged as the Hardyng’s arranged themselves around the living room. Mrs. Hardyng dished out her typical array of backhanded compliments. This time, she declared how much she admired the humble way in which the house was decorated – nothing extravagant and everything seeming so quaint with middle-class charm.  Sansa noticed that Mr. Hardyng hardly spoke as he sucked down his first glass of bourbon and shook the remnants of melting ice to rouse her father’s attention. Contrarily sucking down nothing but his own pride, her father wordlessly lifted himself to his feet to begrudgingly refill the man’s glass.  

Rickon fidgeted in his seat before resting against their mother with sleepy eyes, Arya alternated an icy glare towards each of member of the Hardyng family in turn, and Sansa tried her best to smile and nod at Mrs. Hardyng, who had been dominating the conversation despite having her mouth full of food.  From the kitchen, Sansa heard the oven timer buzz.  Collectively, every Stark in the room, save Rickon, who had fallen asleep nestled against their mother, jumped to their feet, eager for the opportunity to excuse themselves from the one-sided conversation.  

“I’ll get it!” Sansa nearly shouted as she bounded from her seat and shuffled into the kitchen.  Bent over as she pulled the lamb shanks out from the oven, she felt the heaviness of eyes on her and heard as someone cleared their throat behind her.  Sansa stood up abruptly, realizing now that she was probably giving whoever it was a good show, given that the skirt of her dress was barely covering her ass cheeks. 

After carefully pulling the roasting pan from the oven and tossing off the oven mitts, Sansa turned around to see Harry approaching in uncertain steps, moving slyly around the perimeter of the counter with a knowing grin.

“I’m sorry about what happened with you and Joff,” Harry spoke, although Sansa could not discern any traces of true sympathy.   

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her gratitude just as insincere as Harry’s gesture of apology. With awkwardness being the order of the evening, Sansa stood silently, shifting from one foot to the other as she eyed the doorway of the kitchen adjacent to them.  

“He’s been saying that he broke up with you because you didn’t put out,” Harry finally spoke, drumming his fingertips against the counter. 

Sansa felt her forehead crease in both confusion and disgust.  Thoroughly disenchanted from her dissolved relationship with Joffrey, Sansa couldn’t stomach this bullshit.   

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped icily. 

“Why don’t you do anything about it?” 

The question came, blasé as ever, as Harry’s countenance slipped back into its default of expressionless boredom.  

“I tried.  Remember?” Sansa spoke through gritted teeth as she pointed at the right side of her cheek.  The bruise had faded and healed with time and cold packs.  The memory had not and wasn’t likely to leave her anytime soon.  

“I mean, if it’s not true, then why would he be saying it?” Harry crossed his arms about his chest at that, and his sudden amusement at the conversation was now plain as day.  _Another one of Joffrey’s cronies._

“For the same reason you’re asking me this question: because he’s an asshole.” The words bubbled up, from where, she did not know.  They exited her lips effortlessly, and Sansa felt the victory manifest into a smile, saccharine and mocking.  “Excuse me. Your mother isn’t finished stuffing her face with food,” she added before snatching up another tray of hor d'oeuvres and sashaying into the living room.

Another hour passed of uncomfortable conversation.  Sansa noticed how her mother had stopped smiling at this point, perhaps too socially exhausted to carry on the charade.  Her father appeared to be fairing no better and was being held hostage in a conversation with Harry and Mr. Hardyng about the stock market.  When the clock struck seven, Sansa felt her heart skip a beat, and her eyes met Arya’s across the room.  

Wordless and sly, Arya slipped from her seat and nonchalantly strode from the room to the foyer.  Sansa watched as her sister gazed out the window before announcing that she was going to check on the bread in the oven.  Her announcement was met with disinterested nods.  From where she was seated, Sansa saw a black Mustang roll to a stop in front of the house.  _Oh, god.  He’s here.  It’s him._

With her chest heaving in short breaths, Sansa quietly rose and worked her way to the foyer.  As she turned over her shoulder, she caught sight of an oven pan with garlic bread engulfed in flames.  With her mouth dangling open in horror, Sansa dashed towards her sister. 

“Go! I’ve got it under control,” Arya hissed as she shoved Sansa away before sprinting into the living room with a fire extinguisher in hand. “Mom! Dad! Come quick! The kitchen is on fire!” Sansa heard Arya screech with near deafening volume.  

In an instant, plates and wine glasses went tumbling to the floor as everyone scrambled towards the kitchen.  By the time they made it, Arya had put out the fire with the extinguisher and was relaying the events to all but Harry, who, Sansa could have sworn, stayed behind to watch her slip out the front door with her purse in hand.      

* * *

 

It wasn’t as if he were a thoughtless man.  No.  After all, Sandor had made reservations at Mormont’s Steak House, just as Arya had suggested, and had even inquired about their famed lemon cakes, which were indeed on the menu for the evening.  He had dressed himself in black slacks and a black button down shirt.  If it weren’t for the hideous scars adorning half of his face, he would have pulled back the long strands of his hair.  As it stood, though, his hair helped to mask the worst of his scars, so he at least took immaculate care to brush it out and make himself somewhat worthy of the long legged, red-headed beauty who would be his date for the evening.  

Thoughtless? No.  Certainly not, but it wasn’t until he pulled into Sansa’s neighborhood and traversed the winding road up to the Stark residence that it dawned on Sandor to gather some rehearsed words for whichever Stark parent was likely to answer the door.  _“Good evening, sir.  I’m here for Sansa.”_ That was too formal for his liking.  Who the fuck was he kidding? Then again, Ned Stark – polite and cordial as he had been the previous evening – was not to be trifled with. That much Sandor knew for certain.  Peppering his introduction with well-mannered”sirs”couldn’t hurt, even if the word felt awkward and unfamiliar on his tongue. 

As it turned out, rehearsed words would have been for naught.  No sooner had Sandor climbed out of the front seat of his Mustang and drawn in a deep breath to calm himself (he was, in fact, nervous, although he didn’t care to admit it) than he spotted Sansa heading down the driveway towards his car in hurried steps. As she approached, he could see her cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink, and her eyes were wide in exhilaration, as if she were engaging in activities she shouldn’t be.  

Sandor wasn’t one to pay much attention to women’s clothing, but the dress Sansa had chosen for the evening showcased every conceivable inch of her body he longed to touch, kiss, and caress: legs, shoulders, back, and a subtle swell of cleavage.  Funny how priorities changed.  In an instant, Sandor was no longer concerned about what her old man had to say, or rather, what _he_ should be saying to him. Now, his efforts resided firmly in keeping his hands off of her long enough to show her a proper evening.  

“I was planning to come to the door,” Sandor laughed as he met Sansa at the end of the driveway.  

“Oh!” was all she managed before nervously looking over her shoulder back at the house as she made her way towards his car. “I didn’t want you to have to walk all that way,” she added haphazardly before reaching for the handle of the passenger door. 

More quickly than her, Sandor reached the handle first but not before her hand glided across his.  The contact, small as it was, drew her attention to him.  Looking up at him, she smiled shyly as her eyes steadied on his face despite the scars.

“Forgive me,” she all but whispered.  “I’m being rude.  Thank you for picking me up.  I’ve really been looking forward to tonight. You look very handsome.” 

Had she not matched her eyes to his, and had he not felt her fingers curl ever so slightly around his hand, Sandor would have thought her a liar - courteous but insincere, simply spouting off words a well-bred girl like her knew to say.

“Baby, you’re anything but rude,” Sandor murmured back, uncertain why they had taken up hushed tones with one another.  

He stepped towards her, the space between them small but alive with an electricity that seemed to flow between them uninterrupted. Sansa did not move away and did not avert her eyes.  If she was nervous, she did not let on but instead, mimicked his step forward until her body was flush against his.  She continued to stare up at him with knowing eyes, _wanting_ eyes. 

Pulling the door open for her, Sandor watched Sansa climb into his car, stealing a glance as her skirt rose dangerously high up her thighs. _A minx, indeed._ He caught the subtle, satisfied smile she gave, presumably to herself, as he walked around to the driver’s side. Only then did she readjust her skirt.  

“I have to say I’m happy you picked me up in a car and not your motorcycle,” Sansa admitted as Sandor fired up the engine, which grumbled with a mechanical roar.  

“What’s wrong with the motorcycle? If I remember correctly, you seemed to like having your legs wrapped around me,” Sandor retorted smugly.  

He had come to expect a timid smile, a playful roll of the eyes, or perhaps a nervous giggle at such lewd jokes.  Shifting a glance towards Sansa, Sandor was surprised to find that instead, she had lifted an eyebrow at him, but her lips were curled into a devious smile.  

The ride towards Mormont’s was pleasant, filled with more conversations geared towards getting to know one another.  By the time they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Sandor had learned more about her passion for animals and her future plans as a vet, her growing disdain for sorority life, and her interests in music, which were a bit different than his but intriguing nonetheless. It was a natural give and take in conversation, something he hadn’t quite encountered with any other female before. Usually, the women he made even a half-assed attempt to “date” couldn’t be bothered, and honestly, neither could he.  Conversations were forced and awkward, ultimately reinforcing the notion that he was doomed to have only sexual relationships with women.    

The restaurant was situated on the North Side of town with a tremendous view of Lake Michigan.  It was quaint and classy but not overbearingly ritzy.  The patio seating overlooking the rippling waters was in high demand that evening, but never a thoughtless man, Sandor had reserved seating in a quiet corner of the patio.  

“This is my favorite restaurant!” Sansa gasped with glee as the car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.  “How did you know?” she added, bouncing a bit in her seat with a beaming smile. 

“I have my ways,” Sandor informed with a shrug, internally writhing at whipping out such a cheesy line. 

After circling around to open Sansa’s door and offer his hand, they made their way into the building and were seated outside.  Sansa had descended into silence as she marveled at the view of the lake, the fresh cut flowers placed at the center of their table, the soft sounds of the piano from inside. In turn, Sandor watched her, noting the way the corner of her mouth lifted in a dreamy smile and her eyes scanned the waters before settling back on him. The gratitude in her countenance was plain as day. As her full lips opened for her to say something, the waiter manifested by their table, rattling off the evening’s special and inquiring about drink orders. Settling for water at the moment so that they might study the drink menu, the waiter obliged and fluttered away to the next table.  

Sandor perused the menu, scanning the list of whiskeys in hopes of finding his favorite.  He was only acutely aware of the giggling off to his right, which was accompanied by hushed whispers.  When he lifted his eyes, Sansa shot him a smile as she discreetly motioned her head in the direction of a group of hostesses and waitresses gathered near the entrance to the patio, gawking at him and Sansa.  It was the last place on earth he expected to be recognized: in a hole-in-the-wall pub on the South Side of town, sure − but not here.  

“You seem to have some admirers,” Sansa observed as she cast a furtive glance towards the girls, who were now aware that they had been spotted.   

“How do you know they’re not admiring you?” Sandor countered, taking a sip of his water and passing the drink menu to Sansa. 

“Just a guess,” Sansa shrugged with a smile. “I’m a girl.” 

“Maybe that’s what they get down on.” Sandor watched as Sansa lifted her eyes to him, wide in bewilderment. “I can’t say I blame them,” he continued, lowering his voice to a grumbling timbre as he swept his gaze up and down her form in an obvious leer. 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or something?” Sansa laughed, settling back in her seat. 

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” Sandor leveled his eyes on her, his mouth curling into a lascivious grin.  As much as he wanted to stymie this sort of banter, at least for the evening, he couldn’t help himself. Every shy smile and scandalized blush from Sansa only succeeded in egging him on further.  

“I’ll take it as a compliment. Although, most men compliment a woman on what she’s wearing or how she looks,” she haughtily schooled, sipping delicately from her glass of water.  

“Oh yeah?” Sandor bit his lip, accepting the challenge as Sansa held her head high with a self-satisfied smile. “Okay. You’re a fucking knockout, and I like your dress. I’d like it better if it were on my bedroom floor along with whatever you’ve got going on underneath it.”

For a moment, she said nothing, but instead seemed suddenly interested in the drink menu before her.  In an immediate panic he had not expected, Sandor was certain he had crossed the line.  She took his crude jabs in stride, but perhaps this was a bit too much. 

“You’re presumptuous,” she spoke softly, still studying the menu with her eyes downturned.  

He thought to apologize, to turn the tides of conversation towards something more appropriate for a first date.  

“I’m honest,” was all he could come up with.  Sandor had moments of thoughtlessness, and apparently, moments of stubbornness as well. With his water glass to his lips, he finally saw Sansa lift her eyes to him. Slowly, she leaned over the table and spoke in hushed tones. 

“You’re presumptuous to assume I’m wearing something underneath this.” With that, she sat back up, gauging his reaction as she went.

Choking on the gulp of water he had just taken, Sandor wiped his lips with the back of his hand, coughing before he felt his mouth dangle open in utter shock. 

“Oh, I see how this works. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Sansa teased coquettishly. 

“No, I’ll take everything you’re offering. A couple times over,” Sandor warned ominously, his voice dark and deep. “Better be careful what you’re putting on the table, though, little bird,” he added with a grumbling chuckle.  His blood was up, pumping through his veins with an emerging heat.  He needed a drink to get through the evening, but perhaps a drink would only embolden him further. It made no matter to him. 

He had to give it to the girl, though. She could hold her own against him, and it was entirely enticing in a way he hadn’t quite experienced before. She was beyond physically appealing, but there was a mental challenge involved as well.  Smart, sweet, sexy.  Sansa Stark was a deadly combination by all accounts.  

“So what _are_ you wearing underneath that dress?” Sandor pressed further.  The banter was a slow roll of burning desires, and he wasn’t about to stop it now.  No, he’d let the momentum take them wherever it pleased.  

“A lady doesn’t talk about such things.” 

Having puzzled out her own brand of deviousness, Sansa flashed him a smile, one auburn eyebrow arched playfully.  Her polished manners were a full-on charade now.  The girl knew what she was doing.  To assume otherwise would be to dangerously underestimate her.  It was enthralling, to say the least.  

“A lady wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Tell me,” Sandor insisted.  

“I can tell you later,” was her counter, and with that, her lips sealed shut, unwilling to divulge any further.   

“You can show me later,” Sandor managed before the waiter appeared next to their table once more.   

“Have you two decided on drinks for the evening?” the waifish middle-aged man queried, hands placidly folded behind his back.  

“You were looking at wines,” Sandor noted as he steadied his eyes on Sansa. “What kind of wine do you like?” he questioned as she bit her lip. She was underage, but a in a place like this, it was doubtful she’d be carded. Nevertheless, he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. 

“I’m not sure. White, maybe.  Sweet,” she offered, suddenly shy and yet her gaze remained on him.  

“A glass of your best sweet white wine for the _lady_ ,” Sandor requested before ordering his own drink and offering Sansa a wink, reveling in the way her lips pulled into a bright smile. 

The drinks came, and with them, more banter − innuendos and subtle teasing, fueled by the effects of alcohol.  By the time the waiter wandered over to take their meal orders, Sansa was halfway through her glass of wine and swaying lightly in her seat, a soft smile permanently gracing her lips. She had placed her fingers delicately on his forearm, settling her hand there gently as she laughed merrily at the stories he was regaling her with from Cannibal Star’s last tour.  

They both ordered steaks, the apparent piece de resistance of the restaurant, according to Sansa, after Sandor assured her to get anything she wanted and as much as she liked. He’d spare no expense for her. Their food came out as the sun began to set, and candles were lit between them at the table. With a contented sigh, Sansa cast him an adoring glance from across the table.

“This is all so lovely, Sandor.” 

When she smiled at him, he felt his reserve begin to thaw, to melt away as he toyed with the idea of leaning across the table and giving her a proper kiss.  He wanted to taste her, to finally indulge in her without interruption. By some comical jest of the universe, Sandor caught movement out of the corner of his eye as a man casually sauntered over to their table.  

“Sansa,” the man spoke in a velveteen voice.  

“Professor Baelish,” she responded, flustered as she dropped her fork and knife to the plate with a clatter. 

The man hovering next to the table, or rather next to Sansa, appeared to be in his early forties. With a near-neon Hawaiian print shirt and pastel sport coat, he was outfitted to appear much younger than his actual age. The net effect was almost laughable, and Sandor worked to stifle the sardonic chuckle bubbling up from within him.

“Oh please! I insist you call me Petyr,” the man spoke as he rested his hand heavily on Sansa’s bare shoulder. “Gorgeous evening for a night out,” he continued before finally acknowledging Sandor’s presence with a dubious stare.

Silence momentarily settled between all three of them. Sansa fidgeted in her seat, the man continued to gape through seedy eyes at Sandor, and Sandor stared back, unwilling to return the man’s saccharine smile as his jaw set tensely.   

“Petyr, this is Sandor,” Sansa introduced nervously. “Sandor, Petyr.”

Sandor said nothing, but instead, offered the man only a curt nod of the head as he swirled the tepid contents of his whiskey glass.  

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m a long-time friend of the Starks,” Petyr informed warily although with a cheerful tone in his voice.  Not that it mattered.  Sandor didn’t buy this man’s bullshit for one second.  Besides, Petyr’s hand had moved discreetly down Sansa’s back. She stiffened in response, internally writhing, it would seem. 

“And Sansa’s professor by the sound of it,” Sandor countered before narrowing his eyes at the man.  

“Oh yes. I teach at Northwestern,” Petyr chuckled, finally pulling his hand away from Sansa before motioning his head towards the building behind them. “I know the owner of this restaurant, Jorah, and stop in quite often.  Although, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.  What part of town are you from? Surely not the North Side.” 

 “No. South Side, although I’m from California originally,” Sandor intoned bluntly, clenching his jaw to stop a slew of threats and insults from hurling out of his mouth. The fucker had some real nerve. 

“Fascinating,” Petyr remarked insincerely. “I hail from Baltimore. And what is it you do for a living, Sandor?” 

Finishing the rest of his drink with a healthy gulp, Sandor slammed the glass back down on the table a bit harder than he intended and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m a mechanic.”  He matched the man’s eyes, challenging him to make some sort of passive-aggressive comment.  

“He’s also a guitarist in a very popular metal band,” Sansa broke in proudly as she smiled at Sandor. 

“We share a few things in common then.” When Petyr spoke, he was staring at Sansa, huffing out a laugh before turning his eyes back to Sandor. “I’m the lead singer in a Huey Lewis and the News cover band. We play around town. Just for fun, of course.  You can’t make a living being a musician, but clearly you know that, hence your mechanic job.” 

Sandor felt his hands, both of which were resting on the table in clear view for all involved, curl into fists. From across the table, he could see the disappointment in Sansa’s eyes, her pleasant evening unraveling into a disaster. Steeling himself, Sandor swallowed hard and regained his composure. 

“No, definitely not in a cover band, but record deals aren’t exactly chump change.”  

“Fair enough,” Petyr shrugged before narrowing his eyes at Sandor, his smile giving way to his thin lips sealing shut in a scowl. “Well, you two enjoy your meal.  Sansa, it was a pleasure as always.  Your mother will be thrilled to hear of this run-in,” he added, patting Sansa on the shoulder before ambling off with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pastel pants.  

“What a fucking prick,” Sandor grumbled with a shake of his head.  By the way Petyr turned his head slightly over his shoulder, Sandor was sure he had heard him.  

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered with a frown as she picked at her mashed potatoes. By the crestfallen look on her face, he knew she was not only disappointed by the sudden turn of events but clearly embarrassed as well.

Reaching across the table, Sandor cupped his hand beneath her chin, tipping her head up to look at him. 

“Hey, you don’t get to be sorry for that. Don’t apologize for him,” he insisted. He watched as a smile began to reemerge on her lips, and her body seemed to relax. 

Continuing with their meal, the mood had lightened some, but Sandor was vexed by the ordeal with Petyr.  The guy was a creep, no doubt, but he couldn’t put out of his mind the way the man had looked at Sansa and touched her. 

“Does he always look at you like that? And…put his hands on you?”  The question came with some reservation, and it bordered on being none of his goddamn business.  However, Sansa offered a wan smile and a discontented sigh.   

“He definitely creeps me out but hasn’t ever crossed the line,” she reassured him. “He’s my mom’s friend, so…”

“So you put up with it,” Sandor finished. “Your mom mentioned him the other day, and I thought he may have been an ex-boyfriend.”  Finding some humor in his assumption now, Sandor shook his head with a throaty chuckle.   

If he found the situation fleetingly humorous, Sansa seemed to find it down right hilarious.  In an instant, she was laughing once more and vanquishing any residual discomfort brought on by the run-in with Petyr.  

“You can’t be serious?” she giggled through gasping breaths.  “I would _never_ date a guy like that! I mean, do you see how he dresses? He’s like Don Johnson and Tom Selleck’s love child.”  

Moments later, when he caught the eye of the waiter, Sandor discreetly nodded his head at the man, who returned the gesture before shuffling back towards the kitchen. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Sandor spoke, feeling himself growing inexplicably nervous.

“What is it?” Sansa urged, pouting her bottom lip when Sandor shook his head in response to her inquiry.  

“Tell me!” she insisted.  

Sandor wordlessly motioned his head towards the waiter, who was coming up with a plate of three small lemon cakes dusted with powdered sugar.  Wide-eyes dazzling in the candlelight, Sansa flashed him with a million-watt smile.  

“Lemon cakes are my favorite!” she exclaimed, bouncing slightly in her seat and clapping her hands together before delving into one of the confections. 

“I called ahead to make sure they were on the menu.” 

Taking a small portion onto his fork, Sandor tried the cake. Not particularly afflicted with a sweet tooth, he enjoyed them nonetheless, but more so, was relieved that Sansa seemed to be in high spirits once more as she savored the dessert.  

After splitting the third lemon cake with her and paying for the bill, Sansa thanked him once more and rested her hand on top of his. Wrapping his fingers around her palm, Sandor lifted her hand and slowly pressed a kiss to each of her fingers in turn. He watched, enraptured, as her lips parted slightly in surprise, and her chest began to rise and fall rapidly with each breath. When his ministrations were done, he begrudgingly disentangled his hand from hers.  Even with such a simple and apparently chaste gesture, he could feel his pulse quicken and the familiar heat of arousal pass through him.  

“Let’s get out of here.” 

With that, he took Sansa’s hand in his and led her out of the restaurant.  

* * *

 

The fluttering of butterflies in her stomach had hardly ceased throughout the duration of the evening.  She hadn’t quite known what to expect from Sandor.  He was rough around the edges, but thoughtful in his own way.  He had handled this evening with a haphazard delicacy, one which suggested he hadn’t quite “courted” a woman per se.  She adored that he took himself out of his element to show her a good time and was thoroughly mortified when Baelish showed up with back-handed comments dripping in condescension.  Sansa had thought the evening was ruined then, that Sandor had been made to feel so thoroughly out of place that perhaps he might never want to take her out again.  

Although he seemed to take everything in stride and shrugged it off, the thought had remained with Sansa, especially now as he led her back to the car.  She didn’t know if he had anything else planned for the evening or if he was now ready to get the night over with.  The worry settled at the pit of her stomach, effectually squashing any remaining butterflies. In the corner of her eye, she could see Sandor had shifted his gaze to her.  She lowered her head so that he might not see her frown. Certainly, she didn’t want him to think she had had a bad time.  On the contrary, everything had been beyond her expectations: the gorgeous view of the lake, the candle light, the conversation, their meal topped off with her favorite dessert.  

When they reached the passenger side of the car, Sansa allowed Sandor to reach in front of her to open the door.  Instead, though, he pressed his hands against the car on either side of her, leaning forward slightly as Sansa settled with her back against the car. Face to face now, she offered him what must have been a dull smile. His brow furrowed and his eyes grew heavy with concern. 

“What’s the matter?” he questioned, his voice husky and deep and sending a shiver to run up her spine. 

“I just…,” Sansa began, feeling her own voice catch in her throat as she scanned through her mind to find the right words.  _The truth. Just tell him the truth._

“It’s silly really,” she laughed nervously. “It’s just…I’ve had such a wonderful time with you. I don’t want the evening to end.” 

She thought he might laugh at her or perhaps find a way to turn this into a lewd joke.  At first, he said nothing and when Sansa lifted her eyes to him, she found the corner of his mouth was upturned in a half-smile.  His own gaze, though, was settled on her lips and one arm had coiled around the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush. His other hand rested against the side of her neck, his fingers buried into the thick waves of her hair. 

At once, the butterflies were back in business.  She felt her stomach flip, her heart beat, and her tongue glaze across her lower lip in anticipation.  He was going to kiss her.  A proper kiss on a proper date.  

Sandor’s mouth pressed against hers, soft yet restrained at first as he gauged her reaction. He let his lips caress against hers, surprisingly tender and sweet in a man who had spent much of their conversations suggesting all the physical things they might do together. Sansa’s arms snaked around his middle in return and her lips parted against his. His tongue slipped into her mouth.  It was then that the hunger came, the desire they both seemed to share. Sansa returned the kiss with a fervor, gingerly biting his bottom lip and pressing herself closer against him. Unwittingly and somewhere along the line, she had begun to slowly writhe against him. She wanted to be closer to him, for her body to be melded against his. With her breasts pressed against his chest, Sandor reluctantly broke the kiss, giving a small lick to her lips before pulling away slightly. 

“I had planned for us to take a walk down the boardwalk.  I know a place that’s a bit more secluded,” he breathed against her mouth before claiming her lips again, unhurriedly and lingering. 

Sansa hummed a reply in return as she nodded her head, too preoccupied to mind much where they ended up so long as he kept kissing her. 

After a few unsuccessful tries at ceasing their attentions to one another, Sandor finally managed to open Sansa’s door with a grumbling sigh. Inside the car, he stared longingly at her, his eyes sweeping up and down her form. Biting her lip, Sansa leaned over the center console. She pressed her mouth against his neck, running her tongue in dawdling circles right beneath the corner of his jaw.  She listened in rapt to the heaviness of his breathing, near panting and interspersed with deep moans.  His hand was clutching her bare thigh, moving up slowly beneath the skirt of her dress and stopping right before her panty line. 

Outside the car, both her and Sandor seemed to simultaneously catch the sight of an older couple gawking at them in horror and disgust. Turning the car on, Sandor let out a rumbling laugh. 

“We better get out of here before we’re banned from this place for putting on a little after-dinner show.” 

Giggling, Sansa nodded her head, breathless and bleary-eyed with desire she hadn’t quite experienced before. After a short drive south, Sandor parked the car in a lot alongside the shore of Lake Michigan. As promised, there seemed to not be another soul in sight.  From up north, the lights still danced in far-off orbs on the water which lapped against the sands of the beach.  Out of the car, Sandor took her hand once more, leading her towards the length of sand down off the boardwalk. 

“I’ve never been to this part of the shore before,” Sansa said as she slipped out of her heels.  

“Let me guess, you haven’t ventured far outside of Oak Street beach,” Sandor queried with a smile. 

“I’ve been a few other places, but nothing like this though.  This is…” Sansa let the words die on her tongue.  It was perfect and she was enchanted by it all.  She found herself staring at Sandor, watching now as he studied the waters. He must have felt her eyes on him.  Without a word, he turned towards her, his hands settling on the slender curve of her waist.  With a pull, she was pressed against him once more.  Even in the darkness, she could still make out the way he drank in the sight of her. It wasn’t a leer looking, but rather he seemed to relish her form and savor the way she looked in this moment. 

“This is one of my favorite places in Chicago,” he divulged, one hand gliding down her shoulder and the length of her arm. It was just a ghost of touch, but elicited goosebumps to prickle her skin.  The back of his hand ran up her arm and slowly traversed down her back. 

Sansa returned his touch as she pressed her palms against his chest. His muscles were taut underneath as she smoothed her hands towards his shoulders, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. 

“It’s gorgeous,” she spoke with a contented sigh. “But, maybe…” 

“Maybe it’s not ideal for what we have in mind?” Sandor finished her thought, a wicked smile on his lips.

Sansa nodded her head in devious delight, happy that he was the one to vocalize the suggestion. Sandor effortlessly lifted her up and in return Sansa gave a squeal of surprise before wrapping her legs around his waist. Carefully, Sandor carried her back towards the car and felt for the handle of the backseat door.  

After setting her down, Sansa climbed in, scooting along the seat to make room for Sandor.  He carefully lowered himself on top of her and a tingle ran through her as the bare skin of her back made contact with the coolness of the leather seat. His lips met hers, picking up where they had left off with ease.  With her legs draped over his hips, Sansa surrendered herself to the kiss, freeing her inhibitions as she went. It started as a gentle give and take, sensuous and exploratory, their hands roaming one another’s body. Finding the same place on his neck as before, Sansa alternatingly licked and kissed the spot that seemed to drive Sandor wild.  With each pass of her tongue, his breathing became more rapid and he rocked his hips against her. She could feel his hardness between her legs and one hand was cupping her breast, kneading gently. He reclaimed her mouth with a deep kiss, his tongue hot against hers and his hands running down the silhouette of her curves.  Emboldened and with an insatiable ache emerging between her legs, Sansa rolled her hips against him until they felt into a rhythm with one another. It was slow and deliberate, their eyes meeting, heavy with lust. 

Sandor’s hands were running up the outsides of her thighs, pushing up further underneath her skirt as he hooked two fingers beneath either side of her panties. 

“Are you sure you don’t put out on a first date, hmm?” he murmured against her mouth, gliding his tongue across her bottom lip. 

His thumb was running along the outside of her panties over her slit until he pressed gently at her nub in smooth circles.  Sansa hummed in return, her eyes closing and mouth opening to release a soft moan. Instinctively, her knees dropped further apart, her legs opening against his touch. The wetness between her legs was soaking through her underwear and she knew he could tell as a low, reverberating groan rumbled from his throat.  

With each pass of his thumb came a jolt of tingles through her body as her hips slowly ground against his touch.  He had pulled away ever so slightly to watch her.  Her skirt was around her waist now, her head dropped back, as she continued to buck her hips.  She wanted just a little bit more; his long fingers dipping into her, reaching all the spots that she couldn’t quite reach as he whispered all the things he wanted to do her, _would_ do to her, in her ear.  

Sandor’s motions had slowed, but now all four of his fingers from each hand were slipped beneath the sides of her panties as he gripped her hips, stilling her movements. Only then did it occur to her that he had asked a question, a request to go further.  She wanted it. God, she wanted it, but she also wasn’t _that_ kind of girl.  With a beleaguered and frustrated sigh, Sansa closed her eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she confirmed begrudgingly with a nod.  She felt Sandor remove his hand from her hips and settle them against her sides as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“That’s a shame,” he whispered against her neck, his words terminating in kisses. “I’d love to bury my face between your legs right now and devour you. I bet you taste amazing.” 

Sansa felt a wave of heat move through her and the tantalizing visuals quickly followed.  No one had ever done _that_ to her before. Joffrey had refused when she expressed curiosity at what it might feel like. Perhaps he felt the way her breathing had become ragged or maybe it was the unbidden moan that had escaped her lips at his words, but Sandor had lifted his lips from her neck and was staring down at her laid out beneath him.   

He was waiting for a response again, she realized, permission to proceed. The space between them had grown heavy in a different sort of way. 

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you, girl.” Sandor shook his head with a laugh, his hair brushing lightly against her cheek.   

Another silence had settled between them and Sansa found she couldn’t look him in the eyes.  

“Is that all you want me for?” she asked haltingly as she stared at the floorboard of the car. 

“Well, no. Ideally, you’d reciprocate,” Sandor retorted with an exhaled laugh.  

Sansa wriggled beneath him, her palms pushing against his chest as she sat up.  Confused, Sandor obliged and extracted himself from off of her.  Sansa smoothed her skirt down as she settled into the seat.

“I’m not joking, Sandor. I want to know. I’m not that kind of girl.” An anxious sort of fear had come over her; perhaps irrational, but certainly a product of her time with Joffrey. Surely, Sandor had the right of it when he said that sometimes people aren’t all that they seemed to be. 

Bewildered as he sat next to her, Sandor ran one hand over his face, sighing before turning to look at her. 

“I know you’re not that kind of girl, which is why I like you,” he offered in earnest, his eyes heavy with import and matched to hers. “I don’t want some girl who’s only good for one thing.  I want someone I can actually talk to, someone smart and sweet.  Someone I respect.” 

Sansa nodded her head, her eyes downturned as a smile began to creep across her lips. Turning towards her, Sandor settled one hand against the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek bone.  When she lifted her gaze to him, he began once more. 

“Sansa, we won’t do anything you don’t want to.  My fucking god, you turn me on, but I’m not going to blow you off just because you’re not riding my dick right now.” 

She knew he meant every last word.  She could tell by the perplexed look on his face, the way he seemed more concerned with proving to her he was sincere than with resuming their activities.  Sansa also saw the disappointment coloring his features; not disappointment with the turn of events, but rather disappointment with himself.  

Despite the gracelessness of his words, she knew it was the truth.  When a small giggle escaped her lips, Sandor turned a confused stare towards her. Settling her hand on top of his, Sansa nodded her head before leaning forward to place a soft kiss against his lips. 

 “You turn me on too,” she whispered against his mouth before carefully crawling onto his lap.  

“I know I do,” he responded assuredly and with a smile before returning her kiss with as much delicacy as she had initiated it with. His lips were a warm caress against hers and his arms wrapped around the small of her back.  Lifting an eyebrow in curiosity, Sansa stared at Sandor with a questioning smile. 

“You’re so fucking wet right now,” he added with a deep chuckle as he smoothed his hands up and down her back.  He was staring at her, his lips curled into a smile and his head rested back against the seat. 

“You don’t know that,” Sansa countered, sinking into him further as her hips swiveled slightly against him.  She could feel he was hard again and moaning quietly with the cadence of her movements. 

“Prove me wrong,” he spoke on a husky voice, his hands at her hips and guiding her motions. 

“I can’t,” Sansa admitted before biting her lip. 

“Prove me right then,” Sandor mumbled against her mouth, occupying her lips.  

Sansa took a measured breath before sliding back slowly and perching herself on his knees.  With her back pressed up against the driver’s seat, Sansa pulled up the skirt of her dress.  As much as her breathing had become erratic, nearly panting with anticipation, so too had Sandor’s.  He watched her in wonderment, his eyes alternating between studying her face and eagerly drinking in the sight of her hand running up the inside of her thigh. 

Reaching the soaked juncture between her legs, Sansa hesitated and tried to gather up the courage to _show_ him how much he turned her on.  Eyes dark and heavy with desire, Sandor slowly nodded his head in encouragement. Pulling in a deep breath, Sansa pushed her underwear to one side, revealing herself to him.  She watched him swallow hard and sigh a deep breath which came more as a grumbling moan followed by a nearly indiscernible slew of expletives. His hands gripped the tops of her thighs and he momentary tore the heaviness of his stare from between her legs so that he could look her in the eyes.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded before unwittingly licking his lips.  

“Wh-what?” Sansa stammered as another wave of heat moved through her body.  Leaning forward slowly, Sandor whispered against her lips.  

“I want to watch you touch yourself.” Sensing her hesitation, he offered her a slow kiss, unhurried and sweet, which she returned gladly. When he settled back in his seat once more, hands resting behind his head, Sansa felt a surge of desire envelope her, spurring her on as she moved her hand between her legs. 

As her finger swept across her clit and trailed through the pool of wetness between her legs, Sansa couldn’t remember a time she had been this turned on.  She dipped one finger and then two into herself and relished the momentary satisfaction she felt. Her head lolled back and her eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the feeling of her own hand working between her legs.  She whimpered and writhed, moaned and sighed. When Sandor’s own moans had joined her in a duet, she opened her eyes.  He was watching her, his mouth parted, lips moist as he stroked the length of his cock. 

Forgetting all courtesies, Sansa stared at his manhood, reveling in his size which was more than generously proportioned to his body.  He was huge and the sight of him stroking himself, the sounds of his groans, elicited another flush of wetness to emerge between her legs. 

Chuckling as he now noticed her leering at him, Sandor pulled her hand away from between her legs.  The two fingers that had been buried inside of her were glistening with wetness.  Slowly and with his eyes seeking her out in the darkness of the car, Sandor sucked on her fingers, his tongue swiping against their length. 

“I was right; you’re wet and you taste amazing,” he declared with a grin. “I win,” he added, burying his face against her neck and nipping gently beneath her ear. 

“What do you win?” Sansa queried with a sigh, delighting in the subtle jolts of pleasure reverberating through her.  

“You tell me,” Sandor murmured against her neck between kisses.  

Without the pretense of thought, Sansa reached for one of his hands and guided it between her legs. And, without hesitation on his end, Sandor slid one long finger inside of her, stroking deftly against the spot she couldn’t quite reach herself. Sansa let a sharp moan escape her lips. Spurred on by her response, Sandor slipped a second finger inside of her and his thumb moved in small, teasing circles against her clit.  In a haze of ecstasy, Sansa reached between them, taking Sandor’s cock in her hand and smoothing her palm up and down his length. 

Biting his lip hard, he grunted in response. His fingers had momentarily stilled as he moaned against her neck. Surrendering to the bliss, Sansa rocked her hips against his hand, writhing until she found just the right spot. Continually, she did this and with each roll of her hips, she felt her legs beginning to shake. 

“Need something else to ride, girl?” 

Faintly, Sansa caught the sound of his voice interspersed with the moans of his own pleasure. He was whispering in her ear, his arm wrapped around the small of her back to still her movements as his fingers slid in and out of her, listening in rapt to the sounds pouring from her lips. “I won’t stop you. God knows, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I met you. Your tits bouncing, legs spread for me, moaning my name, begging me for more. You think about it too, don’t you?”

The thought of giving in completely to her own desires as well as his, flashed across her mind. It would feel amazing. He would be gentle with her, she knew with a certainty.  He would go slow, he’d stop if it hurt too bad. Oh, but how could it? If his fingers felt this good... And his lips, too. They were at the curve of her cleavage spilling out from her dress.  

“Yes, I think about it too,” Sansa breathed out her response as she pressed herself hard against him.  With a firm yank, Sandor pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her bare breasts and taking one hardened nipple into his mouth.  With his unoccupied hand, Sandor cupped her other breast and gently rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  

Through the haze of sensations rolling through her body, Sansa realized Sandor had guided his manhood between her legs and what she was grinding against was the length of his cock.  It slid against her clit and he bucked his hips against her. 

Gathering her faculties as best she could, Sansa slowed her own movements to a halt. 

“I can’t…I’ve never…” she admitted, feeling foolish for having let it go this far only to turn him away.  Joffrey would have been livid and hurled insults at her.  When Sandor stopped suddenly, she worried that he might be angry with her too.  He settled back in the seat with a sigh, his hands resting against her hips.  She stared down at her lap, unable to meet his eyes in case she might find disappointment lingering there. 

“You’re a virgin,” she heard him speak gently.  It was not unkind, but rather as if he had already figured as much. 

Without a word, Sansa nodded. In the silence, she heard Sandor pull in a breath before feeling his arms wrap around her.  Pulling her towards him until she was cradled against his chest, Sandor ran one hand down her arm as the other brushed lightly through her hair.  He pressed a kiss to her forehead and one to her cheek. 

 “When you’re ready then,” he spoke quietly. 

Once more, she nodded her head against his chest. Lifting her chin until his lips were matched to hers, Sandor claimed her mouth in a slow kiss, one that sealed his sincerity and calmed any emerging doubts.   

“I want to see you again.” He spoke plainly and with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“I’d like that,” Sansa whispered, burrowing against him. 

“Next weekend I don’t have any shows,” he informed, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers.  

“I’m moving into the sorority house next weekend.” Sansa squeezed his hand gently and gave him a sleepy smile.  No longer would she have to sneak out of the house to see him.  The thought was ridiculous in and of itself.  She was an adult, after all. 

“How about I drop by then? See your new place and then I can take you to my favorite guitar shop.  I need to see about a Stratocaster I’ve had my eye on.” 

“It’s a date.”  

Sansa could imagine it now; Margaery’s face as Sandor pulled up, perhaps on his bike, Jeyne’s snickering disgust, Myranda’s nod of approval, Dany’s confusion. She didn’t care though. It didn’t matter what they thought.  All that mattered was the way he held her now, his hands warm against her skin, the scent of his cologne, his lips delivering kisses to her cheek, the tip of her nose, the top of her head. 

“A date it is.” Their plans were sealed as Sandor placed a delicate kiss to her lips. “I should get you home.”  

Sansa nodded reluctantly and, after replacing articles of clothing to their proper places on their bodies, they both extracted themselves out of the back seat of the car. The drive back to Winnetka was pleasant, filled with light conversation about the evening they’d had. Each red light afforded the opportunity for one of them to lean across the center console and steal a kiss, each consecutive one becoming more heated than the last. The light would change to green just as Sandor’s fingers had made their way back between her legs or Sansa’s hand found his hardened cock once more. The cars behind them would blare their horn and they’d begrudgingly continue on to the next light, only to repeat the process all over again. 

By the time they made it to her neighborhood, they had once more found themselves in a predicament of not being able to keep their hands off of one another.  Sandor pulled to a stop in front of her house and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, one which was in humorous juxtaposition to the activities they had been engaging in for most of the evening.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted, putting the engine into park. 

“You are in no position to be walking me to the door when my parents are probably watching.” Sansa motioned her head towards Sandor’s lap and the outline of his rock-hard manhood clearly visible there.  

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a shrug. “I’ll walk you to your door next time.” With that, he stole one more kiss; this time, it was warm and lingering, unconcerned with who might be watching.  

“Goodnight, little bird,” he whispered against her lips before pulling away. 

“Goodnight.”  Leaning over, Sansa kissed his cheek and flashed him a smile. 

When she retreated inside, her parents were already in bed.  The house was dark as she navigated upstairs as quietly as possible.  Her hair was a mess, her dress disheveled, her lips swollen from kissing. The last thing she needed was for her mother, or worse, her _father_ to catch her at the top of the stairs and berate her with questions regarding her whereabouts for the evening.  

Closing the door to her bedroom, Sansa noticed Arya was gone for the night, probably having snuck out. Flicking the light on, she washed her face and brushed her teeth for bed before slipping out of her dress.  She threw on an oversized T-shirt, humming to herself as she combed out the knots in her hair.  She replayed the evening in her mind, hurriedly skipping through the memories of dinner as her thoughts settled on the rest of the night. She knew dating Sandor would be different and an experience she wasn’t quite used to, but she hadn’t anticipated the way he made her feel; the butterflies, the anticipation, the curiosity, the arousal, the excitement, the pure pleasure and glee.  He was amazing and she cursed herself for even having entertained the idea early on that she might not give him a chance. 

Lying down in bed, Sansa let the memories of the evening slowly flood her mind. She tried to place what exactly it was that she found so tantalizing about him.  He was course yet oddly gentle with her. The things he had whispered in her ear had nearly sent her over the edge. It was erotic and enthralling in every conceivable way. 

In unhurried movements, Sansa ran her hand over her T-shirt, between her breasts, and down her stomach, stopping at the elastic of her underwear.  Pulling in a breath, she slipped her hand underneath, drawing up one leg so that her lips parted.  With her middle finger, she gently stroked between her legs in soft, teasing motions. She was still wet from earlier in the evening, her panties soaked through.  

Sitting up, she pulled off her T-shirt and pushed her underwear down to her knees.  Lying back down, she spread her legs, hearing Sandor’s voice clear in her head.  _I’d love to bury my face between your legs right now and devour you.  You have no idea the things I want to do to you, girl…_

She dipped two fingers into her warm wetness as deep as she could, stroking herself from the inside, but hardly able to reach the same place she that he could.  Closing her eyes, she imagined him running his tongue over her clit, sucking and lapping at it until she cried out his name. And she would. For him, she would. Bundling up a third finger, she imagined what he would feel like inside of her, how he would fill her up and how she would eagerly take him in.  

She licked her lips now as she envisioned riding him, just like he always talked about.  With his hands roaming over her, she would ride him hard, ride him slow, experimenting with each roll of the hips as she rocked her way down his length.  

Steadily reaching her climax, Sansa rolled on her stomach, her bare breasts pressed against the sheets, her cheek buried against the pillow as her fingers worked deeper and her thumb rolled against her clit harder.  She imagined being on her hands and knees, letting him enter her from behind.  He would pull her hair and whisper how good it felt in her ear as he thrust into her hard.  And she would let him.  She would tell him she wanted more and he would make her say please, just like he said he would. 

Panting as she slowly withdrew her fingers soaked down their length, Sansa rolled on her back. Flushed as she caught her breath once more, she opened her eyes, which met the sight of the Cannibal Star poster hanging over Arya’s bed.  

_You have no idea the things I’d let you do to me,_ she thought to herself as she stared at Sandor’s unsmiling form on the poster before pulling her underwear back on and curling up under her blankets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I have to apologize for there being so much time between this update and the last! Life got super busy and the time I normally had to write completely vanished. That time is slowly coming back to me so it will not be so long for the next update! 
> 
> Second, thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback. I appreciate every last bit of it! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! And thank you for being so patient!


	8. Runaway

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Eight

"Oh, she's a little runaway  
Daddy's girl learned fast all the things he couldn't say."

_Runaway_ , Bon Jovi

* * *

Ned was already in a foul mood for a Sunday. With no discernable cause for his irritation, he rose early to enjoy some peace and quiet with the morning newspaper and a cup of coffee. His lips barely touched the edge of his mug before the phone rang loudly at precisely eight o'clock on the dot. The shrill sound carried through the house, irritating him further. Who the hell would be calling so early on a Sunday morning? Who in their right mind, beside himself, was up and moving at this hour? With the family still sound asleep, Ned hurried towards his office, coffee sloshing out of his mug as he went, each splatter met with a colorful word seethed beneath his breath.

When his bare foot landed on one of Rickon's Legos, he yelped out in pain and hobbled along towards the phone. His face was undoubtedly the same shade of cherry red as the godforsaken piece of plastic embedded in his foot. If the family were churchgoing folk, perhaps he'd have some godly inspiration towards patience. The Starks were not and Ned lost his patience by the time he snatched up the phone from its cradle.

The curt greeting he had intended to breath into the speaker died on his lips when he heard the sound of Sansa's voice coming through. She had apparently gotten to the phone faster than him and sleepily conversed with someone on the other end.

"Did I wake you?"

What he expected was a telemarketer soliciting money for one thing or another. Or perhaps even Mr. Hardyng calling to apologize about being an insufferable prick and polishing off the last of Ned's good whiskey.

Instead, it was a deep, grumbling voice and an odd question for a stranger to be asking. He could only hope that Sansa knew this individual. The reassurance from that thought fled quickly enough. After all, this wasn't the voice of some boy a few years past puberty. It was a man she was talking to - a man asking if he had woken her. Ned stilled and pulled the speaker away from his lips so that his breathing wouldn't travel through the line.

"Mmm, maybe," he heard his daughter sigh into the phone sweetly. He settled against the edge of his desk and pressed the phone harder against his ear though he could hear just fine.

"You sound sexy in the morning."

The man spoke again, but this time with a lewd chuckle. Ned felt his blood pressure rise and his body stiffen. He knew that laugh and he could almost imagine the shit-eating grin likely on this guy's face. His fingers curled against his palm and for a moment he thought to say something into the phone.

"Is that right?" Sansa cooed back.

Ned was stunned into silence. The whole situation was equally infuriating and shocking. Since when did his baby girl humor this sort of crap? Furthermore, since when did she start associating with grown men? And why did this moron have the nerve to call up in the first place?

"Yeah," the man laughed once more. "I can't stop thinking about last night," he spoke after a cadence of silence.

_What the hell does that mean? What happened last night?_ Quietly as he could manage, Ned covered the speaker of the phone with his hand and let out a sigh. He wanted to jump out of his skin. He wanted to tell this punk that if he knew what was good for him, he'd never call this phone number again. He wanted to run up the stairs and rip the phone in Sansa's room right out of the wall.

"Me neither. I had an amazing time," Sansa replied near breathlessly.

Ned could see her now - all starry-eyed and smitten, floating on cloud nine. He had seen this before in her when she started dating Joffrey. It broke his heart to see his daughter suffer through the disenchantment of that shitty relationship.

"And you'll never believe what I did when I got home!" Sansa continued gleefully.

_Oh dear God._

Ned felt his face flush red in anger and mortification. If he hung up the phone now, he wouldn't have to hear this. He could pretend that perhaps Sansa and this…man…played a nice game of Parcheesi last night. Or maybe they had a riveting discussion about Reaganomics. Then again, he didn't know what was worse – his daughter canoodling with a grown man or becoming a staunch Republican supporter.

"What?" the man egged on, lasciviousness pouring through the phone and making Ned literally sick to the stomach.

"Mmm, it has to do with me, naked in my bed and the poster hanging above my sister's bed."

Ned braced himself against the desk, breathing heavily and shaking his head. A stack of folders careened off the desk and onto the floor with a heavy plop. He winced at the sound, hoping it hadn't carried through the speaker still pressed against his palm.

"Fuck," the man veritably groaned into the phone. "Goddamn, that's hot. I can't wait to get you alone again. The things I'm going to do to you, girl."

_Oh my God! No. Oh lord._

Unwittingly, Ned began to pace in front of the desk. He wanted to hang up. He had heard enough, but the jerk called his damn house for heaven's sake! It was his God-given right as the man who paid an arm and a leg for the girls to have a phone line in their room to hear what this fool had to say to his sweet girl.

"Oh yeah? And what exactly do you plan to do?"

He had never heard Sansa talk like this. God! But why would he? To him, she was sweet Sansa - soft-spoken, diligent in her studies, kind and respectful.

_No. Not my innocent girl! This middle-aged loser is corrupting her!_

"Well, I had planned on licking that sweet…"

Worked up into a frenzy, Ned spun on his heel. As he lunged forward to continue his pacing, he slammed hard into his wife who had somehow manifested in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Catelyn screeched in bewilderment as she lost her balance and stumbled into the desk.

"Shhh!" Ned hissed, waving his hand frantically to quiet his wife.

"…until you scream for more."

"Who is it?" Cat demanded firmly, rubbing her hip with a small wincing of pain.

"Not now! I'm busy!" Once more, he tried to shoo Cat away and gently nudge her towards the kitchen.

"Ned, give me the phone," his wife insisted.

Her demand was accompanied by  _the look._ One hand was firmly planted on her hip and with her head cocked to the side, she held her other hand out for the phone. He had been married to her long enough to understand that this woman would not back down once she donned  _the look._

"No!" Ned insisted, nonetheless. He was being obstinate and he knew it. So did she, but he dodged Catelyn anyway, bobbing away from her as she tried to grab for the phone. In zigzags, she chased him around the room until the phone cord was stretched to its limit.

"You're at work today?" Ned heard Sansa inquire brightly. He listened carefully to his daughter's conversation as he staved off Cat who kept lunging forward to snatch the phone.

"Yeah, I'm picking up some extra hours to help Selmy out. I'm calling to let you know that I had to order a part for your car. I probably wont have it ready until Wednesday, maybe Thursday."

Ned stopped. Dead in his tracks, he halted and so too did Catelyn.  _Him! The mechanic._

"Put the phone down, Ned!" Catelyn drew out her words, but not before marking each heavily at the end. It was her way of weaving fierceness into her voice.

"That's fine. I was hoping to see you sooner though," Sansa replied with a disappointed sigh.

"I'll be heading through Evanston tomorrow. Maybe I can come see-"

Distracted and out of breath, Ned had only noticed the phone being pulled away from his ear at the last moment.

"Cat! Stop! No, no. I just want-" he whispered frantically as he tried to grab for the phone.

"What has gotten into you? Who was that?" Catelyn demanded after replacing the phone to its cradle.

"You! I! You should…"

Scrambling for an explanation, Ned came up empty handed. What exactly did he need to explain? He wasn't the one having illicit conversations over the phone.

"Well?" Catelyn pressed. She wouldn't be letting him off the hook. That much was clear as she inched forward.

"You should have heard the things Sansa was saying to…to…this…guy. No! Man. A full-grown man! Not just some boy her own age."

Whatever shock and horror he hoped might grip Catelyn at this bit of information was replaced with a pointed look launched in his direction. Arms crossed about her chest, foot tapping on the floor, his wife pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You were eavesdropping, Ned," she tried to reason.

In the end, he would ultimately admit she was right. A few hours would go by and he'd have to hang his head to seek her out, mumble out how she knew better all along and he should have listened to her. After all, that seemed to be the arrangement he signed up for in marrying her. He wouldn't have it any other way, but in this moment he needed to make her understand. The man they invited into their home and fed at their own table was a pervert out to corrupt their daughter.

"I had to! I meant to put the phone down, but…I just…" Once more, he fumbled over his words gracelessly.

"You just what?" Catelyn continued to push and she wouldn't stop until he admitted his wrongdoing. But stubborn though she was, so was he.

"I have an obligation as her father to make sure that she doesn't…you know…"

_God, just quit while you're ahead._

"That she doesn't talk to a member of the opposite sex?" Catelyn wrapped her arms around Ned's middle. Her lips curled into a soft smile as she stared up at him knowingly. He never knew what it was that curbed the fierceness and replaced it with dotting affection.

"The things they were saying," Ned shook his head as he spoke. He wouldn't dare relay them. They were bad enough to hear, let alone repeat. "She was with this man last night."

"Arya said she was with Margaery last night, something for the sorority."

As it stood, Ned could barely keep track of his own schedule, let alone all six of his children. When Sansa had mysteriously disappeared last night, Ned didn't find it so hard to believe that he had simply forgotten some sorority activity she had already scheduled. Cat had looked just as befuddled at the information, which, in hindsight, was an oddity. The woman had a near-inhuman ability to keep every family member's schedule straight. Statistics would dictate she was bound to forget something every so often and, every so often, she did forget a soccer practice, PTA meeting, or something of the like. Cat had merely shrugged as Arya nonchalantly explained that Sansa had some "airhead gathering," as she called it, to go to.

"She wasn't!" Ned insisted - whipped up into a tizzy once more at the realization he had been duped by his own daughters. "This…guy...this  _man_ guy…she was with him!"

"Maybe he was over at Margaery's too. Did you think about that?" Cat reasoned calmly.

Ned abruptly freed himself from his wife's arms, shrugging her off as he bounded towards the stairs.

"I have to handle this!" he insisted.

"Here we go," he heard Cat mumble at the bottom of the stairs. It didn't matter. She could patronize all she wanted, but he was going to get to the bottom of this come hell or high water. Ned took his steps two at a time before hurdling down the hallway. He didn't bother to knock on his daughters' door, but instead unceremoniously burst into the room – a cardinal sin for the father of two teenage girls.

He had hoped to find Sansa still on the phone with San- _dork_ or whatever the chump's name was. To his supreme disappointment, she had hung up the phone and was curled up in her bed, facing the door with a smile on her lips.

Both of the girls popped up immediately at the intrusion. Arya rubbed her eyes and blinked in confusion, obviously still sound asleep prior to him barreling into the room.

"Out of bed!" Ned demanded firmly. It wasn't often he shouted at his kids and even now he tried in earnest to keep his voice down. "Both of you. Downstairs,  _now_."

He didn't wait for the girls to get up, but instead headed down the stairs and into the living room. Cat had settled into the recliner, her feet pulled up onto the chair as she cradled a coffee cup in her hands. Ned paced for what felt like an eternity. Cat stared at him as if he might burn holes in the carpet the way he was walking back and forth. Eventually, the girls ambled into the room and plopped down on the couch, one right next to the other.

"Where were you last night?" he questioned curtly as he stared at Sansa. Hands settled on his hips, Ned continued to pace as he awaited an answer.

Sansa was a terrible liar. It was a running joke in the family. Of all his children, she was the worst at it. He watched his daughter's eyes grow wide and fill with panic before her mouth fell open to speak.

"Dad, I told you. She was at Margaery's," Arya spoke on behalf of Sansa. The two momentarily exchanged glances.

"You pipe down! Sansa, where were you?"

"I was…like she says. I was at Margaery's." Like clockwork, Sansa faltered. Her voice caught in her throat and her face went red as she frantically shifted her stare to Catelyn.

"You ran out on your mother's dinner party and that was bad enough!" Ned began. "Now you've got your sister lying for you. Who was the man you were talking to?"

"What man?" Sansa questioned indignantly. Suddenly, the understanding bloomed across her face, which deepened to a darker shade of red. "Wait, you were listening in on my phone call?"

"I happened to pick up the phone and I heard a few things," Ned admitted. The conversation was already uncomfortable enough without rehashing the finer details.

"Why were you listening in on my phone call?" Sansa insisted angrily as she scooted to the edge of the couch.

"That's not the point. The point is I've had enough of you two going around all over town with these guys who are up to no good. Between Arya sneaking out to go do god-knows-what and you  _gallivanting_ with some guy last night!"

Ned's voice rose with his own anger. He never knew Sansa to be like this. He always expected a battle of wills with Arya, who shared his stubbornness. He never imagined to have it out like this with Sansa, though.

"I wasn't  _gallivanting._ It's called a date." Sansa drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin up as she matched her eyes to his. Ned realized only then that he had stopped pacing. "Yeah, I was on a date," Sansa affirmed once more. "So sue me!"

Ned felt his jaw drop. Whipping his head around to Cat, his wife too seemed floored by Sansa's sudden brazenness.

"I don't know what's gotten into the two of you," Ned began again, pointing at each of his daughters in turn. "We need to talk about this. About you two and your…activities…with these men you keep seeing."

"Activities? They just went on a date, Dad! Chill!" Arya interrupted with a roll of the eyes.

"No, I will not chill!" Ned cried out. "I was a young man once. I know how men are, especially with beautiful girls. You're both young and pretty and these men will take advantage of that. Now, if you have…you know, when you do…" Ned ran a hand over his face with a deep sigh before starting again. "When you have…"

Somehow he couldn't manage the words. He had had this conversation with Robb and Jon and never remembered it being this damn hard. If anything, it should be easier the second time around, but somehow Ned felt himself growing increasingly enraged at the idea of any guy doing those… _things_ …with his daughters.

"Sex. When you have sex," Cat sighed, shaking her head at the disaster this conversation had turned into.

"You need to be responsible!" Ned's outburst seemed to have come from nowhere. There was so much more he needed to tell them, to warn them of, but it was all he could manage to say without the words vanishing on his tongue.

The room was engulfed in an awkward silence, everyone avoiding each other's stares as best they could.

"Wait, is this a sex talk?" Arya questioned disbelievingly. "Oh my god!" Slumping back against the couch, she buried her face in her hands, her voice a mumbled groan. Pulling her hands from her face, she shot Ned  _the look._ It was the same cocking of the head to the side and the same pointed look he so often got from his wife. "You're trying to have a sex talk with us and you can't even say the word  _sex_!"

"Arya, stop," Ned sighed as he closed his eyes. The wherewithal to have this conversation had fled him now.

"Did you let the Hound nail you?" Arya inquired with a devilish smile as she turned towards Sansa. "Is that what this is about?"

"Arya!" Sansa chided with a swat to her sister's arm.

"What? It's apparently what everyone wants to know," Arya shrugged before elbowing Sansa playfully. "So did you? Is his shlong huge?"

"Eww!"

The outburst came from behind him and Ned spun around to find Bran and Rickon standing in the doorway of the living room. Nose crinkled in disgust, Bran shook his head while Rickon erupted into giggles, though Ned hoped against hope that his youngest didn't quite know what he was laughing at.

As a father, this was a waking nightmare; the kind no one talks about in regards to parenthood. No one ever warned him that this day would come; the day when he would have to have these conversations and the potential that he might fail miserably at them as he was now.

"Bran, go in the kitchen with your brother!" Ned snapped impatiently.

"Why aren't you having this talk with Bran? In a few years he'll be Arya's age," Sansa huffed before Ned could speak again and end the conversation. "Will you listen in on his phone conversations too?"

"You're both grounded," Ned scolded, eying each of his daughters and hoping he conveyed his disappointment in them. "No more sneaking out, no more covering for one another. That's it. You'll both come home right after school, no going out on the weekends."

"Fine." Sansa shot up from the couch and calmly smoothed down the front of her bathrobe. "I'm moving out next weekend anyway so it doesn't matter," she added as she brushed past him and sashayed towards the stairs in movements graceful despite her anger. Sharing in her sister's anger, but not so much of her grace, Arya stomped from the room, fuming as she went.

"Yeah, maybe I'll move out too!" she shouted as she trailed after Sansa.

"You will do no such thing!" Ned called out. "Now go to your room!" he added for good measure.

"I was going there anyway!" Arya fired back.

"Good! And take down your posters when you get up there!"

Tit for tat, they would go. Arya craved having the last word as much as Ned did. It seemed for now he would have the final say on the matter and couldn't help but find satisfaction in this. His lips tugged into a relieved smile before Sansa shouted from the top of the stairs.

"And to answer the question, his shlong was  _huge_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking forever and a day to update this. I cannot thank you enough for all the support for this fic. It means a lot to me and your comments are all so very much appreciated. 
> 
> The last few chapters were longer than I intended so I'd like to stick to shorter chapters and more frequent updates. I wanted to get this update out to diffuse a bit of the devastation of my last Gods & Monsters update so this is not beta'ed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed :) I promise more SanSan interactions in the next chapter...


	9. Cherry Pie

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Nine 

" _She's my cherry pie_

_Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise_

_Tastes so good makes a grown man cry_

_Sweet cherry pie"_

_-Cherry Pie,_ Warrant

* * *

 

 

Madonna’s _Papa Don’t Preach_ blared from the boutique’s speakers at the mall on the north side of town. If Sansa believed in universal signs, this would surely be one of them– a cautionary tale wrapped up in the lyrics of a campy pop song. She didn’t need signs when she had her father’s insufferable silences and stern scowls to contend with. They were signs in and of themselves; his message loud and clear, speaking volumes despite icy reticence.

 

Sansa didn’t beg for her father’s permission to go to the mall. She was a grown woman. She didn’t need his permission. After getting home from work, her father thumbed through the newspaper in his beloved leather recliner with a glass of scotch on the table next to him and _The Dark Side of the Moon_ sounding from the record player. Her father quietly mouthed the lyrics to _Money_ and Sansa dramatically threw herself to the couch with a heavy sigh, staring forlornly through the sheer white curtains of their living room window. A miserable pout formed on her lips and she conjured all sorts of sorrow to surface in her eyes when she cast a pleading gaze her dad’s direction.

 

The top half of the newspaper folded over on itself and her father made the profound mistake of asking what was wrong. Sansa commenced her well-rehearsed sob story: the eminent approach of the homecoming mixer, her ghastly lack of a pink dress, the pressures from her sorority sisters who were all terribly concerned that Sansa Stark – the up-and-coming president of Tri Delta – didn’t have her dress yet. Her father cut her off halfway through the sob story, right at the part where Sansa blathered on about sequin designs and offered to draw her dear old dad a diagram of what her dream dress looked like.

 

He agreed to let her go to the mall, no begging required, yet when Margaery’s cherry red convertible zoomed up the driveway to the thrumming beat of Culture Club, her father visibly tensed and his gentle rocking abruptly halted.

 

 _Maybe he doesn’t like Boy George,_ Sansa tried to convince herself when the slow groove of Pink Floyd clashed with _Karma Chameleon_ in an awful cacophony _._

 

The truth was her father probably preferred Boy George in all his gender bending glory to a mechanic in a metal band and the dubious gaze that followed her to the door said her dad knew damn well Sansa was meeting up with Sandor tonight. Her father wasn’t stupid and Sansa didn’t exactly write the book on spinning believable lies.

 

Still, she didn’t know what tipped him off – perhaps the exuberant smile she tried to hide as she bid him farewell with a tight hug and the sweetest “thank you” she could muster. He merely nodded in return, regret written all over his stoic countenance. Nothing was said, not a word. _Papa Don’t Preach_ didn’t hold a candle to her dad’s ability to inspire a guilty conscious and now Madonna’s serendipitously chiding melody faded into the next candy-coated pop song.

 

Sansa studied her hands, particularly the sparkly sheen that covered her skin and caught the light from above. She wondered how on earth she was going to get it all the glitter off. The dress she tried on earlier was covered in it and now the better half of her body was too.

 

“What is she doing in there?” Margaery hissed beneath her breath while filing down one hot pink nail. The girl lounged on a red leather couch with shopping bags strewn about her feet. The Tyrell’s had money to burn and Margaery was always more than happy to help with the burden of spending it. 

 

Sansa shrugged distractedly in response and picked at the glitter on her palm. Margaery had shoved Jeyne into the fitting room with an armful of pink dresses and Jeyne had been in there for well over fifteen minutes now. She would whimper and pout before ultimately refusing to show Margaery and Sansa the dresses as she tried them on. According to Jeyne, one of them looked too much like something Cindy Lauper would wear, the other was too poufy, and now this one apparently made her ass look big.   

 

“It…” A frustrated sigh came from the dressing room. “It’s stuck, okay? The zipper is stuck because my ass is the size of Montana!”

 

“Oh, honey, no one’s ass is the size of Montana!” Margaery assured sweetly. “Besides, there’s plenty of time between now and homecoming to come to Jazzercise with Sansa and I.”

 

Margaery’s head lolled to the side and she rolled her eyes. Sansa didn’t notice at first. Instead, she stared at her watch with the distinct feeling that time was crawling along - one agonizing tick followed by a dawdling tock. With the weight of the girl’s eyes on her, Sansa’s hands fell to her lap, but it was too late. Margaery already caught her sneaking yet another peek at the time.

 

The first instance was in the food court as the girls shared a basket of cheese fries and gushed over homecoming plans. Sansa grew quiet and studied the timepiece on her wrist with boredom painted across her face. She had looked up to find Margaery smiling coyly at her, though the girl didn’t raise any questions. The second time Sansa had been watching the clock while mindlessly thumbing through dresses on a rack. Margaery strolled up and observed they were all the wrong color.

 

“No, silly!” the girl had laughed merrily. “The theme is ‘Pretty In Pink’, not pretty in teal.”  

 

Now, Margaery’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose in Sansa’s direction and her mouth curled into a devious smile.

 

“Spill it,” Margaery insisted, tossing her nail file into her purse and pulling her knees onto the couch. “What’s going on with you?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sansa responded with unconvincing apathy.

 

Feigning ignorance was worth a shot, but Margaery Tyrell had an unusual and sometimes infuriating aptitude towards observation. Nothing escaped her, especially when her curiosity had been piqued.

 

“You haven’t picked out a dress yet,” Margaery began with a pointed look. “The chiffon one looked gorgeous on you.  Why didn’t you get it? And why do you keep obsessing over the time? I told you I’d get you home to watch _Miami Vice_ with your dad. I think it is so sweet you watch it together, by the way!”

 

Sansa’s stomach lurched, the knot tightening with compounded guilt. She lowered her eyes and chipped at the nail polish on her fingers. Her dad didn’t even watch _Miami Vice_. He talked at length about how Don Johnson was a sleaze ball and how any man sporting that much pastel was surely no good. In one day, Sansa had woven an elaborate web of deceit – first, omitting details of her shopping trip to her father and then lying to Margaery about the origins of her early curfew. Sooner or later, she would cross her lines and the whole web would unravel, exposing all of her secrets.

 

Sansa glanced at Margaery through her eyelashes and found the girl smiling, head tilted to the side with glossy curls falling around her shoulders. 

 

“I have to do something in ten minutes,” Sansa admitted timidly. Flakes of mint green nail polish continued to drift to her lap.

  
“What do you have to do?” Margaery prodded.

 

“I’m meeting someone.” Sansa hoped the indifference she willed into her voice would dissuade Margaery’s curiosity for now.

 

“Who is it?” The girl bounced in her seat with a squeal, delighted to be made privy to all the details. “Not Harry, I hope! God, after that stunt you said he pulled on Saturday.”  

 

That was one thing Sansa was forced to come clean about. Margaery had already spread the gossip that Harry and Sansa were the new “it” couple on campus. The other sorority girls had looked visibly distressed when Sansa explained why would she _not_ be one-half of the new “it” couple. Just like that, Harry was branded a douche bag and collectively deemed unsuitable as boyfriend material.

 

“No, it’s not Harry,” Sansa nearly scoffed. “It’s just someone I’m talking to.”

 

“Get real! Who is it?” Margaery licked her bottom lip and cast a wide-eyed stare at Sansa. “At least tell me what fraternity he’s in,” she added, near breathless, and Sansa exhaled a nervous laugh.  

 

“No, he’s not in fraternity,” she shook her head.

 

“So he’s a jock then. What sport? Football?” Margaery’s questions came in rapid fire, one after next, and they’d continue until Sansa spilled all the delicious secrets Margaery thought she was holding onto.

 

She hated to lie again, but had no intentions of telling Margaery that she was seeing a guy from a metal band. She certainly wasn’t going to say that she had already gone on a date with him. And it would be a cold day in hell before she admitted that that date had ended in the back seat of his car – her writhing in his lap and his hands cupping her breasts and slipping between her legs.  

 

“Well, it’s not…I…” Sansa stumbled over her words and Margaery went silent while she patiently awaited an answer.

 

“It is a football player, isn’t it?” Jeyne’s voice sounded from the dressing room before the door flew open and the girl barreled out. “Who is it? Did you invite him to homecoming?” Jeyne hobbled as she put on her shoe and balanced the dresses thrown over her arm.

 

“Yes!” Margaery squealed and clapped her hands together. “You have to bring him as your date! Ideally, he should be someone from Sigma Chi, but we’re letting the rules slide a bit his year.”

 

Laughter burst through Sansa’s lips and her hand flew over her mouth to disguise her smile. Sandor at the homecoming mixer would be a sight to see; him showing up in his low-slung leather pants and a pair of black cowboy boots, sporting a scowl as he mingled amongst preppy frat boys; him slow dancing with her to Air Supply or whatever else Margaery insisted be on the playlist. He’d make fun of everyone the whole time while whispering dirty remarks into her ear. He’d steal kisses and his hands would slide from her waist to her hips and down to her ass when no one was looking, or perhaps when people were certainly looking because Sandor didn’t care that people saw them together.

 

The entire affair sounded much more appealing with Sandor there, but Sansa’s smile faded and the laughter abruptly stopped. She already dreaded homecoming this year. She didn’t have it in her to play cat-and-mouse with horny frat boys while sipping overly sweet punch and pretending she adored every corny song that played. If she brought Sandor, others would laugh too and for different reasons. The ones that didn’t point and snicker would ask questions. They’d pry; if not with their eyes, then with a flurry of snobbish inquiries that she didn’t have the patience for and she certainly wouldn’t subject Sandor to it.   

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Sansa forced a contrived smile and gave a non-committal shrug of her shoulders.

 

“Well, you better go on and meet this football player of yours.” Margaery handed Sansa her purse and shooed her off the couch with a delicate flick of her wrist. “We’ll meet you in front of the south entrance in an hour.”

 

Sansa nodded, not caring to correct Margaery or tell her that her rendezvous most certainly did not involve a football player. The girl would figure it out eventually, but now was not the time to get into the semantics of her love life. Instead, Sansa hurried from the boutique and out into the open corridor of the mall.

 

For a Tuesday night, the place bustled with activity. She strolled past groups of teenagers gathered outside various stores. Families crowded the food court as parents corralled unruly children and pacified them with sugary treats. Sansa stopped in front of the directory and scanned for the music store on the list.

 

 _“Meet me at the music store. It’s the only place I’ll be caught dead in at the mall,”_ Sandor had grumbled over the phone last night.

 

He called in the rare sliver of time where the Stark household was blessedly empty: Arya running amuck with Gendry before curfew, her mother taking Rickon to get fitted for glasses, Bran at marching band practice, and her father at his Monday night bowling league. Her conversation with Sandor had been brief, only long enough to compare their respective schedules for the week.

 

Sandor’s band practices and gigs fell on Sansa’s free days and the fleeting chunks of Sandor’s free time were during Sansa’s sorority meetings or study groups. The only overlap was tonight. They had a small window of time before Sandor and his band mates left for Milwaukee to meet with their manager.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to my place?” Sandor had asked over the phone. His voice was deep, drawn low to a guttural groan with the implicit suggestion.

 

“Won’t you have to make time to clean it?” Sansa had giggled in response, twirling the phone cord around her finger as she flopped to her bed and stared out the window.

 

“Just the bedroom,” Sandor chuckled. She heard the longing in his voice despite the mirth of his laughter. His suggestions were no longer jokes meant to make her blush. Now, it was a form of foreplay and she had no doubts he meant what he said.

 

“What if I don’t want it in the bedroom?” Sansa had countered shyly through a devious smile, her heart racing and her skin flushed with a rising heat.

 

Sandor had gone quiet on the other end of the line and Sansa’s palm landed against her forehead as she silently cursed her own inexperience. Surely, he should’ve laughed at her. Even she knew her attempts at sexiness were utterly ridiculous. Laughter hadn’t drifted through the line, though, only a brief pause followed by the sound of Sandor’s voice. 

 

“Then I’ll give it to you wherever you want, little bird,” he finally replied with discernable traces of wonderment and arousal lining his words. “I’m fucking hard just thinking about you.” On the other end of the line, Sansa could hear the soft panting of Sandor’s breaths.

 

“You’re always hard,” she playfully chided and a delicate laugh softly sounded from her lips.

 

“Yeah, well, I’m always thinking about you,” Sandor responded plainly and Sansa was no longer laughing.  

 

He had said it without missing a beat or fear of how it might make him sound. No lewd suggestion existed between the lines and the sincerity was as unabashed as all his saucy one-liners meant to make her squirm. Truly, Sandor Clegane meant the things he said and Sansa had underestimated how far his candid declarations would go. His words were not fanciful as Joffrey’s had once been, but her heart soared in ways it never had before. It was those moments that Sansa could never explain to her father, Margaery, Jeyne, or anyone else for that matter. In those moments, he made her feel wanted in every conceivable way, far beyond just physical.

 

Sansa had shot up in her bed and her hand found it’s way to her heart. She had had every intention of reciprocating his genuine and thoughtful declaration. On the tip of her tongue was a whole repertoire of sweetness she’d been waiting to unload on someone who was worthy.

 

The moment was ruined, though. The headlights of her father’s car had caught Sansa’s attention and stymied all those beautiful words before she could speak them.

 

“I have to go. See you tomorrow!” she’d shrieked into the phone before unceremoniously slamming the receiver back into its cradle.

 

The memory alone left Sansa wincing as she turned away from the mall directory. She’d lain awake last night staring at the ceiling. Her fingers worried the lace end of her sheet as she conceived all sorts of ridiculous plots to call him back, to tell him everything she meant to say, but couldn’t.

 

 _I’ll tell him tonight,_ Sansa resolved and she navigated through the crowds, chewing her bottom lip. Past each storefront, she rehearsed a planned apology to accompany her lovely words for Sandor and hoped he’d forgive the way she hung up on him. After half a dozen storefronts down, Sansa could see the sign for the music store lit up in neon lights. She rolled on the tips of her toes and scanned for a tall man looking distinctly disgruntled and awkwardly out of place. Even if he was there, Sansa was still too far to see. She slowed her pace and her hands trembled in anticipation. Her cheeks burned with a familiar heat of a bright red blush she knew all too well.

 

Sansa ducked into another clothing boutique and examined herself in the mirrored wall. With her fingers, she tousled her hair and pulled a tube of cherry lip-gloss out of her purse. She smoothed down the front of her orange skirt and shucked out of her jean jacket. Beneath, she wore a tie-dyed crop top shirt that revealed most of her midriff. She blushed with renewed embarrassment. The shirt was low cut and showcased more cleavage than she was normally comfortable with. Nevertheless, she gave a firm push on her breasts and tied her jacket around her waist.

 

“Ready,” she whispered to her reflection, but her eyes were still wide and her hands still trembled.

 

Out in the corridor of the mall, a group of boys gawked at her with their jaws nearly slamming to the floor and their eyes greedily roaming her body. An old couple looked downright appalled when their heads craned towards her as she passed. Sansa wrapped her arms around her middle and picked up her pace.

 

She scanned the front of the music store again and waited for the crowd up ahead to disperse. Slowly, a group of pimply pre-teens comparing cassette tape purchases wandered on and, standing at the entrance of the music store, muscled with long black hair, was the cardboard cutout of Slash. Her heart sank and Sansa stopped in the middle of the corridor. She checked her watch only to find she was five minutes late.

 

_Maybe he forgot._

She licked at the cherry gloss on her lips and shifted from side-to-side, trying in earnest not to pout, or worse, cry.  She stared at the music store with weak knees that refused to propel her forward and her head dropped so that her chin was nearly tucked against her chest. She hardly noticed the small hallway to her left or the figure lurking within it. A hand coiled hard around her wrist and pulled her into the hall. Sansa yelped in surprise and struggled feebly against the firm grip, but a large hand covered her mouth. Sandor towered over her and grinned like a mad man, eyes dazzling as though he’d been watching her the whole time. He pushed her soundly against the wall, his body flush with hers and warm against her skin.

 

“You scared me!” Sansa scolded when Sandor removed his hand and pressed it to the wall beside her head. Her heart pounded in her chest, deafening in her ears, and her knees shook again with a different sort of weakness. She struggled to regain her breath; tiny gasps came through parted lips and she stared up at him.

 

“My apologies,” Sandor murmured. With his head dipping towards her, his lips brushed softly against her mouth as he spoke. He let his lips linger, teasing her with an anticipated kiss that never quite came. Sansa could feel the warmth of his breath hitting her lips. He smelled like leather and aftershave, musky and masculine.

 

Impatient, she lurched forward, but Sandor pulled back with an amused grin and throaty chuckle. His hands engulfed her waist and his gaze leisurely swept over her form, ambling over her breasts, across her midriff, and down the length of her legs.

 

“Goddamn,” he exhaled with a widening smile as his thumbs tucked beneath her crop top and lace bra. Sandor slowly traced the underside of her breasts with each thumb. Starting with her legs and up through her arms and shoulders, chills radiated through her body. Her head fell back against the wall in a gentle thud. Sansa smoothed her hands over the front of Sandor’s leather jacket. If she busied her fingers, he might not notice how they trembled.

 

She found it hard to meet his gaze and she instead studied the faded print of the Black Sabbath shirt he wore. Her fingers traced the pattern of the letters. Loops and lines, she kept tracing until Sandor removed one hand from her waist and tucked it beneath her chin. With subtle urging, he lifted her head until she matched his eyes.

 

“Don’t be nervous,” he spoke on a quiet breath. “I’d say we’re well beyond that,” he added with a laugh. Sansa felt a timid smile creep across lips and her hands slid up the front of his shirt until her arms snaked around his neck.

 

“I know,” she whispered with a nod and her gaze swept from his chest to his face.

 

Sandor’s hair, normally left loose around his shoulders, was pulled back into a neat ponytail. He was clean-shaven too, Sansa noticed. Though they hadn’t gone so terribly long without seeing one another, she noticed things about him she’d forgotten, the smallest details of his features – the small scar above his left eye, the way his eyes were a pale grey in fluorescent light, the shape of his face. His other scars weren’t so terrible to look at either and she admired how he let her look. Perhaps it was a show of trust and she bit her lip to suppress another smile until Sandor eased forward. With one hand cupping her cheek, he pressed his mouth to hers in a warm kiss, delicate and tender at first. Sansa’s lips parted and she tugged on Sandor’s leather jacket until he was flush against her once more. Sandor responded by bucking his hips in smooth, slow motions and deepened the kiss with a steady urgency. The hand at her cheek disappeared beneath her skirt and, cupping her ass firmly, Sandor lifted Sansa up. With her back against the wall, Sansa’s legs easily found their place wrapped around his waist and her arms coiled tighter around his neck as she drew him closer.

 

Sansa’s skirt rode high up her thighs, exposing the full length of her legs as she met the rolling movements of Sandor’s hips with timid writhing of her own. His other hand cupped the fullness of her breast. His fingers gently traced the curve of her cleavage before curling beneath the lace of her bra and brushing against her nipple.

 

His touch – a gentle caress, yet entirely wanting, strained and yearning – felt divine against her skin, eliciting goosebumps with each sweep of his fingers across her nipple and each roll of his hips against the emerging wetness between her legs. The smell of his cologne mingled with sweat and the leather of his jacket was intoxicating. Her head was swimming and her heart thrummed once more in a heated cadence. Sandor’s warmth, his touch, and his scent conjured an unbidden moan to escape Sansa’s lips and her legs wrapped tighter around his waist.

 

“Do you mind!” a woman’s voice sharply scolded. Their writing rhythm abruptly stopped and Sansa and Sandor both turned in unison to see a middle-aged woman cup her hand over her child’s eyes.

 

“Sorry,” Sansa replied breathlessly and smoothed down the front of her skirt after Sandor set her down. The woman glared at them with a furious scowl as she huffed and puffed to herself all the way down the hall towards the bathrooms.

 

“Should’ve gone to my place,” Sandor teased with a chuckle.

 

“I know,” Sansa relented and turned towards him. She interlaced her fingers with his and gazed up at him.

 

The devilish grin on his lips suited him somehow. His black cowboy boots added a few more inches of height and that suited him too. All the things that set him apart – his height, his strength, the unabashed way he carried himself – Sansa doted on them all and now found herself in the predicament of not being able to take her eyes off of him.

 

Sandor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his chest. They stood together in the middle of the hall – Sansa tucked against him, cheek pressed to the fabric of his shirt, breathing in him while Sandor smoothed his hand over her back.

 

 _I missed you,_ she wanted to breath against him, the beginnings of her declarations. Sansa shifted in Sandor’s arms and rested her chin against his chest. He smiled, dipped down, and pressed his lips to hers – one small, sweet kiss.

 

“Let’s go before the stone-cold bitch comes back with her fucking kid,” he murmured. His hand slipped into hers and together they headed into the main corridor of the mall with Sandor leading the way. 

 

People stared as they passed – more old people looking on with shock and horror at the nice little suburban girl holding hands with a rock n’ roll hellion; more middle-aged women casting judgmental glances and smiling to themselves because they went home to investment bankers or lawyers or rich doctors; more teenagers awkwardly gawking at Sansa’s breasts and peering at Sandor in equal measures of terror and awe.

 

If Sandor noticed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he kept his eyes straight ahead and his boots pounded against the ground with every stride, but his grip on Sansa’s hand coiled tighter when men let their eyes linger too long on her bare midriff or legs. She didn’t ask where they were going. It didn’t matter. All she wanted was alone time with him, somewhere they could talk and she could tell him how she thought of him all the time too. Somewhere he could pull her onto his lap and kiss her the way she wanted him to without people interrupting. Somewhere he could touch her and hold her and it wouldn’t matter if anyone saw.

 

The crowds thinned with each storefront they passed. They headed straight into the heart of retail wasteland; lonely looking shops with barren shelves boasting forgotten tchotchkes and one department store signaling the end of the road. Bored workers rested against glass displays of jewelry and watches, staring out into the quiet space vacant of shoppers. Around the corner from the department store was a small nook with a bench and a side exit probably used by no one.

 

Sandor let go of her hand and eased down onto the bench. He rested his elbows on his knees and threaded his fingers together in front of him. Sansa sat down next to him and allowed a buffer of space between them. She crossed her legs politely, but her foot bounced nervously and she chewed her lip again.

 

“Where are your band mates?” she asked and fought the urge to chip at her nail polish.

 

“Around here somewhere,” Sandor shrugged. “Probably trying to pick up chicks. I told them I’d meet them in about an hour.”

 

Sansa nodded, though she didn’t quite care where the rest of Cannibal Star was. The question merely bought her time as she collected the stray bits of her thoughts and haphazardly wove them into coherent strings of words.

 

“Sandor,” she began softly.

 

“Little bird.” Sandor gazed in her direction, his head turned slightly over his shoulder. He smiled at her – the fondness quite evident – but so too was the space between them. His eyes drifted to that space and then back to her.

 

“About yesterday, when we were on the phone.” Sansa swiveled towards him and scooted closer. Her knees tentatively grazed his; a small touch, but her cheeks blazed once more.

 

_Just tell him. Just be honest._

 

“Yeah?” Sandor cajoled and his brows quirked with expectant curiosity.

 

All her words – sincere and doting, flowery and sweet – fell apart into pieces. If she spoke now, they’d be a jumbled mess. She wrung her hands together, both palms now coated in a fine sheen of sweat. A broad grin bloomed across Sandor’s lips as if he understood, somehow eliciting forbidden knowledge of Sansa’s thoughts just by studying the way she blushed and how she could no longer look him in the eye.

 

“Are you wondering if I was jacking off while we were on the phone last night?” he chuckled darkly.

 

“What?” Sansa gaped at him. She had no doubts that he had been and the thought no longer rendered her scandalized and vaguely horrified. Instead, it was tantalizing; the thought of him thinking of her in that way, taking himself in hand, and making absolutely no bones about it.

 

“Oh. No. I mean…I just…” Sansa fumbled through her words, like she knew she would. The gracelessness with which she spoke, the timid hesitance – Sandor noticed this as well and a grimace now formed on his face with mounting frustration. He eased back against the bench and rested his hands behind his head.

 

“I’ll try to keep it under wraps next time,” he offered with a wink when Sansa turned to him.

 

Her heart sank to the far depths of her chest, plummeting to her stomach where the butterflies fled and left a hollowed sense of want and her own frustration. This was their only night together this week and she was making a fine mess of it. Tongue-tied, though she had so much to say, Sansa let her eyes fall to her lap.

 

“No, that’s not what…nevermind,” she faltered again and when she looked at Sandor, his head was cocked slightly to the side. He took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

 

“What I’m trying to say is,” Sansa started once more, encouraged by the way his thumb stroked gently over the top of her wrist. “When you said you were always thinking about me.” Sansa pulled in a deep breath and swept her gaze back up to him, intent to look him in the eyes when she spoke. “Sandor, I just…I want you to know…that was… you are…” 

 

Her eyes squeezed shut and Sansa heaved a sigh. She heard Sandor exhale a quiet laugh and felt as he shifted closer to her. One of his hands cupped her cheek and his lips gently met hers. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed into the kiss when he pulled her closer to him.

 

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” he murmured between kisses. His tongue swept across her lips and the butterflies returned all at once. “Just spill it.” He kissed her cheek and then her forehead before draping his arm across her shoulders. Sansa rested her head against his chest and intertwined her fingers in his.

 

She relished his warmth and breathed him in deeply, savoring the way he smelled and the way his fingers brushed over her shoulder and through the strands of her hair. Sitting up, Sansa turned towards Sandor and pulled her legs onto the bench. A contented smile tugged on her lips as he continued playing with her hair.

 

“My dad heard our phone conversation on Sunday.” It was the wrong confession. She had no intention of reliving the embarrassing details, but the words flew off her tongue quicker than she could stop them. She buried her face in her palms and the rest of her confession come muffled through intermittent giggles of sheer mortification. “The one where you said…the thing about wanting to…well…the one with all the sexual stuff. I had to sit through this really awkward lecture about safe sex. Totally awful!”

 

Sansa pulled her hands away from her face when Sandor erupted into laughter, his voice bellowing throughout the vacuous space in an echo. Sitting up, Sandor shrugged, nonplussed and entirely unapologetic.

 

“Well, tell your Pops that I take your sexual education very seriously,” he intoned on a sultry voice and lifted one brow at Sansa.

 

“Oh really?” she taunted through a giggle.

 

Sandor’s hands coiled around her forearms and with a sudden tug, he pulled her onto his lap. A small yelp escaped Sansa’s lips followed immediately with more laughter. Sandor’s arms wrapped around the small of her back and his lips slowly grazed the length of her neck. His hands gripped her hips and conducted her movements – slow, grinding circles, writhing against his lap again and she could feel his hardness between her legs along and another flush of wetness.

 

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he groaned in her ear before sucking gently on her earlobe. One of Sandor’s hands moved from her hip and grazed up her thigh, disappearing beneath her skirt. His fingers tentatively brushed between her legs, stroking gently on the outside of her panties. A finger hooked beneath her underwear, pulling it to the side and his thumb swept softly through the wetness pooled between her legs. He worked lingering circles at her clit and Sansa rolled her hips to meet his movements. Her head lolled back and her eyes fluttered closed with a quiet sigh.

 

“That’s very considerate of you,” she whispered breathlessly. “I’ll keep your selfless gesture between us, though.”

 

Sansa pressed her chest against Sandor’s, seeking out his lips in a fervor when two of his fingers slipped between her legs. Gripping his shoulders for purchase, Sansa eased herself up the length of his fingers and back down in steady movements. She moaned quietly on an exhale, his thumb continued to brush with delicious delicacy at her clit, and Sansa’s movements were no longer subtle. She writhed against him and her fingernails dug at his shoulders.

 

“We’re about to have an audience,” Sandor mumbled in her ear and reluctantly pulled his hand from between her legs. “Let’s take this somewhere else.”

 

“Oh!” Sansa gasped and turned her head coyly over her shoulder. An old man wandered around the corner just as Sansa extracted herself from Sandor’s lap. Too polite or perhaps too senile to notice, the man waddled past them without a second glance in their direction.

 

Sandor stood and a distinct outline of his erection was clearly visible against the tight fabric of his jeans. He reached down to readjust himself, though it hardly made a difference, and took her hand.  In the department store, a woman at the jewelry counter flipped through a magazine as Sansa and Sandor passed. She gave a distracted nod by way of greeting and continued thumbing through the pages.  

 

Deeper into the store, Sansa followed Sandor towards racks of clothing and mannequins adorned in the latest styles. The far corner of the store was empty and obscurely quiet, save the sound of saxophone music drifting from speakers in the ceiling. Sandor turned to Sansa and pulled her against him. His lips crashed into hers and his hand cupped the fullness of her ass with a deliberate squeeze.

 

“Wasn’t there a dress or something you wanted to try on?” he grumbled against her mouth, his panting breaths hot against her lips.

 

“Yes. This.” Preoccupied with the urgency of his mouth hungry against hers – tongue sweeping against her lips and hands running against the silhouette of her curves and cupping her breasts – Sansa blindly reached out to the rack next to her. Her hand coiled around the first hanger she felt and she ripped it from the rack.

 

The article of clothing was a god-awful sweater vest, something her grandma would probably find attractive. With a mischievous smile, Sansa tugged on Sandor’s hand and pulled him towards the dressing room in the back of the store. His free arm coiled around Sansa’s waist and he pulled her against him until her back was flush against his chest. His lips savored her neck, teeth raking against her skin in gentle nips and soft licks. In cautious steps, they rounded the corner and stumbled into an empty fitting room. Sandor kicked the door shut and firmly secured the lock while Sansa tossed the granny sweater to the corner of the dressing room.

 

He pinned her against the wall and his fingers worked quickly to loosen the jacket tied around her waist. When it fell to the floor, Sansa lifted her arms above her head and Sandor pulled her crop top off, tossing it behind him before he shucked out of his leather jacket and Black Sabbath shirt.

 

Sansa’s gaze landed squarely against the muscled contours of his chest. If she didn’t count all the times she shamelessly gazed at the Cannibal Star poster hung over Arya’s bed, Sansa had only seen him shirtless once; the night she was serendipitously dragged to a Cannibal Star show. Her fingers ran up the taut expanse of his stomach and across the broadness of his shoulders. Her ministrations were rewarded with an enticing moan that eased from Sandor’s lips, though his mouth was once more at her neck.

 

He slipped her bra straps off her shoulders and his lips traced her collarbone in lingering movements, brushing gently with intermittent kisses until he trailed towards the curve of her breasts. Reaching behind her, Sansa unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor. Sandor cupped each breast and his tongue worked in tight circles over each nipple before he lifted his head and stared down at her naked chest.

 

“You’ve got glitter all over you. Have you been at the strip club or something?” he asked with a wicked smile.

 

“No! Have you?” Sansa feigned offense and swatted him against the arm.

 

“Don’t need to. I’ve got you,” Sandor declared. His smile faded and his eyes darkened as they roamed her body once more. “Take your clothes off.”

 

“Why?” Sansa whispered. Her words terminated in a kiss and she nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

 

“Why?” he repeated. One hand palmed her breast and the other slid down her stomach beneath her skirt and panties. “Because I want to taste you, and lick you until you scream for more. Remember?” His mouth hovered over hers and his fingers stopped short of dipping between her legs. “Now take these off,” he commanded on a groan and one finger tugged on her panties.

 

“You take them off.” Sansa pressed her back against the wall and matched his eyes through a sultry gaze. She licked her bottom lip and bucked her hips against him.

 

Sandor’s hand slipped behind her back and unzipped her skirt, which fell to the floor and pooled at her feet. Sansa stepped out of it as Sandor planted his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders. Leaning forward, his tongue ran between her breasts and down her stomach, interrupted here and there with dawdling kisses divine against her bare skin. He stopped just as his lips reached her panties and he eased himself down onto his knees. His hands engulfed her hips and held them firmly against the wall.

 

He gazed up at her as his fingers hooked beneath her panties on each side of her hip. Chest heaving and heart pounding wild in her chest, Sansa watched as her underwear slid slowly down her thighs, stopping just above her knees. Sandor continued to hold her gaze as his tongue dipped between her folds and swept over her clit in one smooth, slow circle followed by another slower circle and yet another, even slower still. Sansa’s head fell back against the wall and a shudder moved through her body. Her underwear fell the rest of the way to the floor. Sandor’s hand smoothed up the inside of her thigh. His tongue lapped at her wetness and a finger slipped inside of her.

 

Sansa draped one leg over Sandor’s shoulder and reached above her head to grip the clothing hook for balance. Sandor urged her legs further apart and his lips worked in concert with his tongue. He sucked gently on her clit and slipped another finger between her legs. A whimper escaped Sansa’s lips and, unbidden, her hips rolled to meet each flicker of his tongue and the soft fullness of his lips between her legs. The deep grumbling of Sandor’s groans came muffled and his hand gripped her ass, pulling her closer to him as the cadence of his tongue and lips carried on with an unrelenting crescendo. Sansa’s legs trembled and she felt her knees weakening. Her moans came louder, breathier, and with heaving sighs pouring from her lips. Each sound she made seemed to urge Sandor on, his ministrations building until a blinding wave of pleasure barreled through her. Sandor’s thumb brushed against her clit and his tongue replaced the fingers buried inside of her to work in deft, shallow circles. The mounting pressure between her legs accompanied a sudden flush of wetness and Sandor moaned, his breathless pants sending chills up her spine. He kept his motions steady, following each quiver of her body and matching it to the movements of his lips, tongue, and thumb still sending jolts of ecstasy through her body, manifesting in incoherent moans that sang from her lips.

 

Lost in the sensations buzzing through her, Sansa didn’t immediately register the banging at the fitting room door, not until Sandor suddenly stopped his movements.

 

“Sir, is everything alright in there?” a man’s voiced hollered insistently.

 

Sandor’s forehead rested against Sansa’s stomach and she could feel the warm bursts of his exhaled breaths against her skin.

 

“Fuck off. Everything’s fine,” he grumbled. The shadowed figure outside the dressing room loitered momentarily before retreating in heavy footfalls. Once the man was gone, Sandor sighed softly against Sansa’s stomach before delivering a flurry of kisses against her side. She erupted into giggles at the tickling sensation of his lips brushing against her skin.

 

“God knows I love the sounds you’re making, but you’ve got to be quiet,” Sandor laughed when he rose to his feet. His fingers traced against her cheek and he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Can you do that for me?” he murmured.

 

Resting her palms against his bare chest, Sansa shook her head. She lifted her eyes to Sandor who stared down at her with brows drawn together in confusion.

 

“No?” he breathed incredulously. His eyes roved over her nakedness and he bit his bottom lip hard as a groan rumbled within his chest. Her bare breasts were still rising and falling and the taut buds of her pink nipples were still hard. Sandor’s hand cupped her breast, his thumb swiping over her nipple.  His eyes continued down between her legs where she was still wet and wanting.

“No,” Sansa repeated and slipped her hand in Sandor’s. She tugged him over to the chair in the corner of the dressing room. With her hands planted against his shoulders, Sansa urged him to sit and he obliged by slumping into the chair. His hands rested on Sansa’s hips and he continued to stare at her, drinking in the sight of her with an aching desire heavy in his eyes.

 

Standing between his legs, Sansa lowered herself to her knees and Sandor ran one hand over his face, heaving a languished sigh into his palm. He gazed down at her and stroked his fingers through her hair.

 

“We should have gone to my place,” he asserted and licked his lip as he watched Sansa unzip his pants.

 

“Oh yeah? What would we be doing there?” Sansa returned his gaze with a coquettish smile and tugged at his pants until they were around his ankles.

 

“You’d be on all fours and I’d be fucking you senseless. You could make as much noise as you want.” Sandor’s thumb traced over Sansa’s bottom lip and her fingers tucked beneath the band of his boxers.

 

“On all fours, huh? I think I’d like that or maybe I still want my ride.” Sansa gazed up at him as she pulled down his boxers. Sandor took the hardened length of his cock in his hand, fingers coiled around its thickness and his thumb tracing circles over the top.

 

“I never said you couldn’t have both.” Sandor released his cock and let both of his hands settle behind his head. “Remember what I told you about that ride. Take it anytime you want, girl.”

 

Sansa pressed her hands against his thighs and scooted towards him. She was still soaking wet and aching between the legs. His tongue and mouth were divine, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts running through her head: her writhing on his lap, easing up and down the length of his cock, and Sandor’s hands at her hips, guiding her movements.  

 

“I want to, but not in a dressing room.” Sansa lifted one brow at Sandor. He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his cock, coaxing her palm to slide up and down with constant rhythm.

 

“Of course, not in a dressing room,” he chuckled on a husky exhale and let go of her hand. Sansa continued stroking his length, marveling at the way his lips parted and his words quivered when he spoke. “I’ll want to take my time with you, little bird. I want to hear all the pretty little moans coming from your pretty little mouth. But for now, there’s something else I want you to do with that pretty little mouth.”

 

Sansa licked her bottom lip and nodded gently with a soft smile. Sandor gathered up her hair in his hand and watched intently as Sansa pressed her lips to the tip of his cock. She stared up at him, uncertain as she ran her tongue in circles where her lips had been. Sandor gave a small nod of his head and closed his eyes as his head fell back against the wall.

 

With her hand working the base of his cock, Sansa took as much of him into her mouth as she could. Each tentative suck elicited a heavy sigh from Sandor’s lips and Sansa followed the sound, her tongue swiping tender circles as his tongue had done with her.

 

Sandor’s hips began to writhe and her rhythm matched each rolling motion, her hand continuing to stroke and her lips caressing his hard manhood with gradual pressure. Restrained moans sounded on each exhale and Sansa gazed up at him. Sandor had thrown one arm over his eyes and his bare chest heaved with each breath.

 

She willed her movements into the same tantalizing concert as Sandor had paid her. Relaxing her jaw, she flicked her tongue against the head of his cock and she took him in deeper. Her rhythm gradually gained in speed, each pass rewarded with another pleasured groan, louder than the last and the hand at the back of her head led her movements.

 

“God damn, Sansa. Just like that,” Sandor groaned, a deep rumble sounding heavily through his lips. Beneath her, she could feel Sandor tensing. His legs squeezed hard against her shoulders and his writhing movements stopped abruptly. He pushed her away and his hand groped against the floor. Sansa settled back on her knees, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

 

Sandor’s hand engulfed his cock and, after two quick strokes, he doubled over with the hideous sweater vest balled in his lap and soaking up his seed. Sandor slumped back in the chair and tossed the sweater vest to the corner of the dressing room. His chest still heaved and his face was flushed, his brow covered in thin beads of sweat.

 

“Come here.” With fatigued eyes, Sandor extended one arm in Sansa’s direction.

 

She pushed herself from the floor and crawled carefully into his lap. Curled in his arms, Sandor engulfed her lips with warm, deliberate kisses. The rhythm waned and Sansa rested her head against Sandor’s chest. She listened to his heartbeat, which gradually quieted after a few moments.

 

“Now I’m sleepy,” she confessed and buried her head in the crook of his neck.

 

“Me too,” Sandor responded with a contented sigh. “I think we have to get going though,” he added reluctantly.

 

Sansa hadn’t bothered to check her watch. Preoccupied with the myriad of sensations buzzing through her body, time was the furthest thing from her mind now and she couldn’t be bothered with it. With a quick check of her watch, Sansa realized just how lost in time she’d been. Fifteen minutes past the hour and fifteen minutes late. Sandor turned her wrist towards him, reading the time and overcome with a similar sense of urgency.

 

“Fuck! I was supposed to meet Harwin and Bronn at eight.”

 

Sansa hopped from his lap and Sandor flew from the chair. The two of them snatched clothing from the floor, tossing each other bits and pieces of attire. Another banging rattled against the dressing room door and two shadowed forms were on the other side now.

 

“There are two pairs of legs in there!” the man shouted from the other side.

 

“Yeah, and you’re about to have two black eyes if you don’t get the hell out of here,” Sandor bellowed back as he pulled on his leather jacket.

 

Sansa slipped back into her shoes and turned towards the mirror. Her hair was a mess, knotted on one side and her skirt now donned deep wrinkles from being crumpled on the floor. She quickly combed her fingers through her hair and gathered up her purse. Sandor flung open the door and the two men on the other side gaped at him with wide-eyes.

 

“You two need to leave i-i-immediately and I m-m-mean it,” a pudgy security guard stammered. Next to him, a balding middle-aged sales associate with an indignant scowl crossed his arms tightly over his chest, just below his proudly displayed nametag. Taking Sansa’s hand, Sandor barreled out of the dressing and back through the department store. The ladies at the perfume counter whispered to one another when Sandor and Sansa hurried past. 

 

They retreated down the open corridor of the mall, past the rows of stores, some with their gates down and fatigued sales associates counting out change in the registers or dusting shelves and sweeping floors. Sandor gripped Sansa’s hand tightly and quickened his pace, each of his steps hitting the tile with a pounding thud. The security guard wheezed each of his breaths and scampered somewhere behind them as he struggled to keep up. When Sansa turned over her shoulder, the security guard’s cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were wide, half-petrified and half-determined to do his job, even if it meant taking two black eyes in the process.

 

At the south entrance, Margaery and Jeyne waited near the doors, both girls propped up against the far right wall with their bags at their feet. Margaery’s back was pressed firmly against the wall, as though she were trying to melt into her surroundings and she gazed out the doors, contemplating her escape perhaps. Jeyne looked positively disgusted. Her upper lip curled into something like a snarl and her eyes narrowed into icy slivers, launching daggers across the front entrance towards the opposite wall.

 

Across from Margaery and Jeyne, Bronn and Harwin whistled and hollered at girls walking by. In a tattered black T-shirt, cut off at the sleeves and with low slinging black jeans bearing half of his chiseled mid-riff, Bronn paid every passing female some variation of the same lewd compliment: a comment on their ass or their tits. Harwin cracked shy smiles at Bronn’s antics and smoothed back the teased tresses of his bleach blond hair. He nervously adjusted the red bandana tied at his forehead and toyed with the wallet chains hanging across his hip. Bronn’s bawdy hoots and Harwin’s hearty laughs echoed through the south entrance corridor, each round causing Jeyne and Margaery to visibly cringe with repulsion.

 

Jeyne turned an annoyed glance in Margaery’s direction, but her eyes swept towards Sansa and Sandor as they approached. Her gaze landed squarely on Sansa’s fingers interlaced with Sandor’s. By some shameful instinct, one she had no control over, Sansa’s fingers slipped from Sandor’s hand and her arms fell tightly to her side, elbows digging into her ribcage. Sandor’s gaze felt heavy against her skin with an unfamiliar weight. If she looked at him now, she’d be filled with another wave of shame, but there was more than one instinct she had no control over. Though she bid them not to, her eyes flickered towards him and she momentarily caught the confounded way his brows furrowed at her. His attention was drawn suddenly to Jeyne who darted towards Sansa.

 

“Sansa! Where were you? We didn’t know what happened!” the girl screeched and her shrill voice drifted throughout the empty corridor. Interrupted from their amorous pursuits, Harwin and Bronn pushed themselves from the wall and ambled towards the commotion.

 

“We have to leave now,” Sansa quietly pleaded when Jeyne stared at her in pure terror as Harwin and Bronn fell in by Sandor’s side. At once, a circle of people had enveloped them: Jeyne and Margaery stared at Sansa with sudden concern and confusion; Harwin and Bronn still cracked jokes and smiled lewdly at Jeyne and Margaery; and the poor security guard looked as though he was going to piss his pants.

 

“Oh my god! Who are they?” Jeyne shrieked and narrowed her eyes at Sandor’s band mates. “Looks like they got lost on the way to a Judas Priest concert.”

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Bronn shouted with evident affront as he stepped towards Jeyne. Sandor’s arm shot up and he pushed Bronn back with a forceful shove. “Man, these chicks aren’t coming to Milwaukee, are they?” Harwin added.

 

“In your dreams, sleaze ball!” Jeyne retorted petulantly with her nose wrinkled in disgust.

 

“Please, just stop.” Sansa gripped Jeyne’s shoulders and glared at the girl.

 

“More like in our nightmares, bitch!” Bronn’s voice echoed loudly and Harwin commenced with raucous laughter once more.  

 

“Stop, man! Come on!” Sandor shouted above the Harwin’s laughter and Jeyne’s incessant yammering of insults.

 

Sansa’s head spun and the circle felt claustrophobic, as though everyone were lurching towards one another, snarling and laughing and yelling. Her skin was flushed now with embarrassment at her own stupid lies as well as anger that she’d partaken in such elaborate deceit in the first place. Tears pricked her eyes and the night outside beckoned with the cool, quiet solace of an autumn night.

 

“We’ve got to go,” Sansa insisted shakily as she turned to Margaery. She thought to find sympathy from her friend, but instead the girl nodded her head curtly and would not look at Sansa. Margaery silently pulled her car keys from her purse and gathered up her shopping bags with a disappointed grimace forming on her lips.

 

“What happened? Are you okay?” Jeyne demanded when she looped her arm in Sansa’s and began to lead her away.

 

“She’s fine. She was in good hands with me.” Sandor gripped Sansa’s shoulder and tugged her back towards him. Jeyne responded with a hard yank on Sansa’s arm.

 

“Oh, I’m so sure!” Jeyne sneered and pried Sandor’s fingers off of Sansa’s shoulder. “Get off her, you creep!”

 

Releasing herself from the tug-of-war, Sansa pulled her arm away from Jeyne and stepped backwards until she was by Sandor’s side. She tucked her hand into his, but his fingers were limp, refusing to interlace with hers as they had before.

 

“No, Jeyne. It’s not like that. This is Sandor.  Sandor, this is Margaery and Jeyne.”

 

Margaery cracked a faint smile, a product of learned courtesies more than anything else, and she glanced at Sandor with her nose stuck high in the air. Sansa had seen that look before and knew the cruel words that usually followed, all the ways Margaery haughtily declared her disgust. Jeyne wasn’t so smart as Margaery and she gaped at Sandor as though understanding had only just now been gifted to her. She stared at Sandor’s scars with a renewed repulsion flashing over her face, obvious enough that Sandor undoubtedly noticed.

 

“Ladies,” Sandor nodded his head in Margaery and Jeyne’s direction before turning to his band mates who’d fallen silent. “This is Harwin and Bronn. They’re not as bad as they look,” he quipped, but an awkward silence followed.

 

“Eww, you actually know them?” Jeyne spun towards Sansa. The bright pink lipstick on her mouth made her teeth look yellow in the fluorescent light.

 

“Take that stick out of your ass and you can get to know us too, sweetheart,” Harwin countered. The bangle bracelets he wore gently clanked as his palm landed against Bronn’s in a high five.

 

“All of you have two minutes to vacate before-” the security guard intervened suddenly. His face was still red and now he looked like he was going to cry.

 

“Before you call the real cops? Fuck off, man. I told you we were leaving,” Sandor snapped furiously and the circle fell silent at the bellowing outburst.

 

Margaery and Jeyne appeared equally horrified. Harwin and Bronn averted their eyes to the floor or ceiling. Sansa felt fresh tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. The night was ruined, an utter disaster now as her web of deceit slowly started to unfurl. Jeyne lifted one finger and pointed at Sandor, but looked to Sansa with an astonished smile.

 

“Wait, Sansa. Is this the football player you were meeting?” she asked on a condescending giggle. “He doesn’t look like any of the football players I know. Please tell me this isn’t the guy you’re seeing. God! That would be disgusting to the max!”

 

“He’s not on the football team, Jeyne,” Margaery murmured quietly.

 

Harwin and Bronn burst into sudden laughter, doubling over and gripping their sides as they gasped for breaths. Sansa stared pleadingly at Sandor and turned towards him.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and buried her face against his arm, fingers clenching tighter around his hand.

 

Sandor stared at his feet and bit his lip, nodding his head slowly and releasing his fingers from her grip.

 

“We’ve got to get on the road,” he said. His voice rumbled from his chest, quiet yet firm. “It was a pleasure as always, Sansa.”

 

His countenance was stoic and impassible now and she might have easily mistaken it for anger. He glanced towards her fleetingly and Sansa saw the hurt fracturing through his hardened reserve. It wasn’t anger that vexed him, she realized.

 

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” Sandor added politely before trailing after Harwin and Bronn. The three of them headed towards the Cannibal Star van parked at the end of the outside walkway.

 

“Well, you have a lot of explaining to do, Sansa,” Jeyne lectured. One hand rested on her hip and the other wagged a finger in Sansa’s face. “I certainly hope you haven’t already asked that piece of scum to homecoming. No way in hell-”

 

Sansa lurched towards Jeyne, the abruptness sending the girl to stumble backwards a few steps.

 

“Fuck you, Jeyne,” Sansa seethed through clenched teeth. Her nose hovered a few inches from the girl’s petrified face.

 

“Excuse me?” Jeyne gasped and her mouth hung open. Sansa noted how she looked like a fish, how her hair was teased too much, and how her eye shadow was an ugly shade of blue.

 

“You heard me,” she replied, deliberately marking her words, and her eyes narrowed. “You really should pull the stick out of your Montana-sized ass.”

 

Jeyne and Margaery gasped in unison and surely had something to say about Sansa’s outburst, her web of lies, and the guy was seeing. By the time the girls had gotten over their utter shock, Sansa was already gone. She ran towards the doors of the mall and burst through. Outside, her feet pounded hard against the pavement.

 

“Sandor! Wait!” she shouted. The night was chilly and her ragged breaths steamed from her lips in white puffs.

 

At the end of the walkway, Sandor, Harwin, and Bronn all turned towards the commotion of her running and frantic shouts.  

 

“Holy shit,” Bronn mumbled. The van door flew open and Thoros poked his head out. Smoke billowed from the backseat and a cigarette rested between his lips.

 

“Give me a minute,” Sandor said and began towards Sansa.

 

He approached in uncertain steps and stopped in front of her. Sansa’s fingers coiled against the sleeve of her jacket that covered half of her palms. She shifted uneasily on her feet. The members of Cannibal Star watched and listened in earnest, their ears tuning to whatever they could hear and their eyes alight with sudden interest. Sansa ignored them. She didn’t quite care anymore who heard what she had to say. She sucked in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to Sandor.

 

“What I was trying to say earlier, but it didn’t come out right, is that I think about you all the time too, Sandor. I mean that. I don’t care what my friends think or what my dad thinks. I don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re the one I want. I choose you. And I’m sorry. I lied to my friends because I didn’t think they’d understand and obviously they don’t, but that doesn’t matter. You’re what matters. Only you.”

 

The words weren’t lacquered in sweetness like the lyrics of all those candy-coated pop songs. In the end, her declaration was simple and flustered. Her heart nearly pounded out her chest and her voice was tremulous.  When she finished, her gaze had drifted to the ground and she stared at her feet with great interest because she was too afraid to see him look at her with disappointment or hurt.

 

Sandor took a sudden step forward. In an instant, she was wrapped up in his arms, one securely around her shoulders and the other at the small of her back. He yanked her towards him and she careened into him. His lips met hers in an urgent kiss and, when she gasped in surprise, his tongue swept effortlessly against her own. Cheering erupted from the Cannibal Star van, each member of the band howling like a feral wolf and shouting out lewd encouragements.

 

“Good. I choose you too, little bird,” Sandor whispered against her lips when he broke the kiss. With her arms draped around Sandor’s neck, Sansa rolled onto the tips of her toes. Her lips brushed his in a tender kiss. She pressed her nose to his and smiled.

 

“That’s fucking love, man,” Bronn commented from inside the van and Sansa responded with a quiet laugh.

 

“Wanna come to Milwaukee tonight?” Sandor asked.

 

Sansa glanced towards the mall where Jeyne and Margaery emerged through the doors. Jeyne snickered when she saw Sansa pressed against Sandor, her arms still wrapped tightly around his neck and his lips delivering kisses against her cheek. She thought only momentarily about what her father might say, the way he might consider her with dubious eyes that saw too much, including the hidden secrets of her smiles.

 

_I’ll deal with it another day._

 

“Yes,” Sansa whispered without a second thought and certainly no anticipated regrets.

 

Sandor took her hand and they hurrired towards the van. Cannibal Star broke out into a round of applause as Sansa and Sandor approached. Beric’s falsetto voice drifted out the driver side window and he pounded his fist against the side of van.

 

“Hell yeah! Sansa’s coming with us!” his voice warbled loudly as Sansa climbed into the back seat and Sandor followed. The rest of Cannibal Star piled in and the door of the van slammed shut. Bronn leaned across Beric towards the open driver’s window. Margaery and Jeyne stood at the end of the walkway gaping at the Cannibal Star van, painted a glossy black with a snarling hellhound on the side.

 

“She’s one of us now!” Bronn shouted and cranked up the radio. The sound of wailing guitars and driving drum beats poured through the speakers and out the window. Bronn thrashed his head to the music, teased hair flying and foot stomping against the floorboard of the car. Beric lifted his arm out the window and his fingers formed into metal horns. The tires squealed and the car lurched forward.

 

In the back seat, Sansa nestled her cheek against Sandor’s chest, breathing in the scent of leather and cologne. She felt him kiss her forehead and his hand brushed down the length of her arm. She smiled to herself, knowing damn well there would be hell to pay for tonight and finding it terribly difficult to care one bit about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, gals (and guys, if there are any out there), thanks for hanging in there with me, what with the huge gap in time between this update and the last! All the love, comments, and kudos really do mean a lot to me :) Thank you!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this latest installment! I know I certainly had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> ETA: In my excitement to post, I forgot a few things: 
> 
> \- This chapter is unbetaed so any mistakes are my own! I spent an inordinate amount of time editing it so hopefully any mistakes are minor. 
> 
> \- Cannibal Star T-Shirts are potentially in the works! More information to come....


	10. Heaven's On Fire

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Ten

" _I got a fever ragin' in my heart, you make me shiver and shake_  
_Baby don't stop, take it to the top, eat it like a piece of cake_  
 _You're comin' closer, I can hear you breathe_  
 _You drive me crazy when you start to tease"_

_-Heaven's On Fire,_ KISS

* * *

 

The ivy lattice’s rhombus-shaped holes fit Arya’s hands and feet nicely. She scaled the side of the Stark house with ease, but the maneuvers no longer challenged her. She knew the routine: up the lattice, tiptoe onto the front porch overhang, pop the screen, nudge open the bedroom window, home free.

 

Only when she did this now, the bedroom she shared with Sansa was dark – lights off, the door shut to the hallway, and no Sansa in sight. _Strange,_ she mused momentarily before resting her hand against the nightstand for purchase. Carefully, her leg eased into the darkness, the tip of her shoe poking around the floor. Bending and contorting like a cat, Arya managed her way through the window without causing much of a ruckus. A satisfied smile curled across her lips as she flicked on the nightstand lamp.

 

The powder pink phone on Sansa’s nightstand let out a shrill cry, loud enough that Arya yelped with a startle and dashed towards it. Halfway through the second ring, she snatched the phone and pressed it to her ear.

 

“Hello,” she half-whispered, expecting Gendry on the other end calling to confirm she’d made it home safely. The boy was daft at times, but she liked to think he wasn’t stupid enough to call while her dad loitered around somewhere in the house.

 

“Arya,” Sansa’s voice came through in a panicked hush. “It’s me!” she added with insistence.

 

_No shit._ Arya rolled her eyes and plopped down on the edge of Sansa’s bed.

 

“Yeah, I know it’s you,” she retorted. Through the other end of the line, Arya heard the whizzing of passing cars and the wind picking up. “Where are you? It’s almost past curfew. And why are you whispering?”

 

“I can’t talk long. I need you to cover for me.”

 

A round of laughter infiltrated Sansa’s words – three, maybe four, men all cutting up and talking over one another. Intrigued, a smile bloomed across Arya’s lips and she began twirling the phone’s cord around her index finger.

 

“Who’s that in the background?” she pressed.

 

“I’m with Sandor,” Sansa nearly hissed, impatience growing.

 

Arya’s brow folded in confusion until the realization dawned on her – the other voices sounded familiar to her.

 

“Is that…is that Cannibal Star?” she began, voice drawn low with incredulity. Sansa remained silent on the other end. “Woah, woah, woah! Back up a minute. Are you with Cannibal Star, yes or no?”

 

“Yes. I’m in Milwaukee,” Sansa sighed as if her current situation – hanging out with _fucking_ Cannibal Star – was some trivial, commonplace occurrence. “I need you to make something up. Tell dad I had to go back to campus for something. Just make it believable and buy me some time. Like, _a lot_ of time.”

 

“In what twisted reality do _you_ get to live _my_ dream?” Arya huffed indignantly.

 

“Arya, how many times have I covered for you?” Sansa reasoned and the pleading in her voice sent a deviant smile to form on Arya’s lips.

 

“I value quality of lies over quantity. By that metric, zero times,” she responded, mimicking Sansa’s penchant for haughtiness.

 

An exasperated sigh drifted through the phone – a mix of frustration and emergent disappointment.

 

“Fine,” Arya relented. “I’ll tell him something, but you owe me big after this!”

 

“Thanks. Love you. Bye.” Sansa’s parting words came exuberantly, all running together before the line abruptly went dead. Arya stared at the receiver in her hand and shook her head.

 

“Lucky bitch,” she murmured before replacing the phone back to its cradle.

 

Pushing herself from the bed, Arya crossed the room and poked her head into the darkened hallway. Rickon was already asleep by now. She eased past his room and towards the end of the hall. Bran’s room was empty – the kid likely at some school function; leading band practice, organizing a student council event, poising himself to become some sort of wunderkind, ready to take over the world. _Good for him,_ Arya thought and smiled to herself because at least _one_ Stark kid had their shit together.

 

Halfway down the stairs, Arya noticed a light in the living room was on – the tall lamp that resided next to the hideous recliner her dad favored so well. The other half of the room, along with the adjacent dining room, was shrouded in darkness. Rising onto her toes, Arya willed her steps towards silence. Her plan was to ease past the living room and straight to the kitchen. It would have worked except the floorboard at the bottom of the stairs creaked loudly against her weight.

 

“Living room. Now,” she heard her father say, authoritative yet still gentle.

 

_Four,_ Arya estimated. She’d devised what she called the Ned Stark rage scale based solely on his tone of voice or the look on his face. The man normally functioned within the two to six range, but every so often, after his hoard of children relentlessly pushed his buttons, he’d reach a nine. He’d get quiet, but the veins in his neck would bulge and his cheeks turned red. He’d lose it momentarily and then sulk in some parental existential crisis until he ultimately apologized.

 

Arya slinked around the corner to the living room, putting on her brightest smile as she bounced up to the edge of the recliner. She ruffled her fingers through her dad’s salt-and-pepper hair. He swatted her hand away from his head and pointed to the front door.

 

“Arya, front door. Front door, Arya. It’s high time you two met,” he lectured. “You’re tearing up the screen on your bedroom window climbing in like that,” he continued and set about folding his newspaper into neat quarters. “I assume that was your sister on the phone. When will she be home?”

 

“Listening in on phone conversations again? I thought you learned your lesson about that one.” Arya sunk into the couch and rested her head back against the cushion. With her hands folded across her stomach, she stared at the ceiling.

 

“Is she with that idiot what’s-his-bucket?” her dad grumbled and tossed the newspaper onto the table next to him.

 

“You know his name,” Arya scolded and cut a glance towards her dad. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed where the pads had dug into the bridge of his nose.

 

“Sandork,” he sneered before laughing at the moniker. Arya responded with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

 

“That stopped being funny a long time ago. In fact, that was, at no point, actually funny.” She leaned into the padded armrest of the couch, the side of her face cradled in her palm. “Also, he’s a veritable rock god. Show some respect.”

 

With her free hand, Arya picked at the clumps of lent that invariably clung to the couch. She could hear her dad pull in a deep breath, either ready to shout or sigh his frustrations. He favored the latter tonight, probably too exhausted to engage in the former.

 

“Arya, you need to show _me_ some respect,” he cautioned. “Where is your sister and when will she be home?”

 

With the question, Arya sat up and turned a serious look towards him, something that usually preceded her lies. Only this time she hadn’t quite devised a foolproof narrative that included contingences should he press for details or question her sincerity.

 

“She’s in Milwaukee with the Hound and the rest of Cannibal Star,” she replied honestly because, truly, _what_ was the big deal if Sansa was out gallivanting with a metal band? “They’re probably having an orgy right now – everyone just bumpin’ uglies, gettin’ right up in each other’s business. I bet she’s smoking three kinds of pot and–”

 

“That’s enough,” her father snapped and lifted a hand as if to create a barrier to the rest of Arya’s sardonic diatribe.

 

“Dad, there’s nothing you can do. Okay?” Arya sighed. “Sandor’s a good guy. He won’t let anything happen to her. She’ll be fine.”

 

Her dad grimaced at the sound of Sandor’s name, perturbed that anyone might say reasonably kind things about the guy. Nodding, he placed his glasses back on his face.

 

“I wouldn’t hold out on her coming home tonight, though,” Arya continued carefully. Sansa wanted time, but the clock read well past nine. Whatever Sansa planned on doing tonight – orgies, pot smoking, or otherwise – the girl wasn’t going to be home anytime soon.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” The vein in her dad’s neck twitched and, even in the soft light of the lamp next to him, Arya saw red starting to flood his cheeks.

 

She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow lifted as she gave her father a pointed look. If she knew damn well why Sansa wasn’t coming home tonight, her dad _certainly_ should know too and she wasn’t about to get trapped in another awkward and excruciating sex talk.

 

“I never expected this from her,” he mumbled dejectedly and shook his head.

 

“I’m sorry, but, hey, I’m home on time!” she offered with an enthusiastic and cheesy smile. “At least Sansa and I alternate being disappointing screw-ups.”

 

Her dad shifted a fatigued glance in her direction and relented. A tired laugh eased from his lips followed by a heavy sigh. Arya pushed herself from the couch and began towards the foyer. Her father lifted one hand to stop her movements and stared up at her with questioning eyes. He hesitated momentarily, measuring his words with his brow folded in contemplative reserve.

 

“Arya, about that thing with the pot and the orgies, that’s not…I mean, people don’t really…anymore…do they?”

 

Horrified he’d even _think_ to ask that, Arya gaped at him, not entirely certain if she should respond or laugh away the awkwardness of the question and high tail it back upstairs.

 

“God, dad! No!” she screeched. “It’s not the summer of love in the Haight-Ashbury district. Sansa’s in Wisconsin. _Wis-con-sin._ What trouble could she possibly get into there?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Mmm.” Sandor’s deep voice hummed quietly in the far back seat of the van. They’d stopped to get gas and the rest of the Cannibal Star members wandered off to an empty field next to the gas station to smoke and stretch their legs.

 

“So everything’s cool?” he inquired between kisses pressed against Sansa’s neck.

 

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Sansa breathed, hardly content to discuss her call home now. Arya would cover for her. Whether or not her dad actually bought it, Sansa didn’t really care.

 

As soon as she returned to the van after making the phone call, Sandor had asked – no, _told –_ her to take her panties off again. Without a word of protest, Sansa slid them down her legs and Sandor monitored carefully before tugging her onto his lap.

 

Her crop top had slipped off easily enough and gathered around the small of her waist. Similarly, her bra had disappeared somewhere on the floorboard near Sandor’s feet, probably resting amongst empty beer cans and food wrappers. She didn’t care about that either. Right now, all her thoughts were on the way his hands smoothed over her breasts and his tongue swept across her nipples until they hardened.

 

Sansa slid back on his legs until her back rested against the seat in front of them. She propped her feet up on the edge of the seat, one foot on each side of Sandor and her legs spread before him.

 

With the pad of his thumb, he teased her clit in circular motions until Sansa’s back arched and she writhed with his movements. He swiped between her folds, spreading the wetness around in soft strokes and watching his own ministrations between her legs.

 

“I want to fuck you,” he declared, staring between her legs. Sansa continued to rock her hips gently against his touch and her legs fell further apart.

 

In between the waves of pleasure, she discerned the shadowed outlines of Sandor’s band mates across the parking lot. She saw the glow of their cigarettes moving through the darkness. For now, they seemed occupied, but she couldn’t say for how long.

 

“You do?” Sansa inquired breathlessly and on the dying end of a moan.

 

She already knew this of course. He’d been murmuring dirty declarations into her ear the whole drive up to Milwaukee. With the music blaring from the van speakers, no one else could’ve possibly heard. Sequestered in the far back seat, the others also didn’t see how Sandor’s hand had slipped underneath her shirt and swept against her nipples. He had guided Sansa’s hand into his pants and she curled her fingers around his cock. In steady motion, she had stroked him as best she could in the small amount of space afforded by the tightness of his jeans.

 

By the time the other band mates declared they needed to stop, Sansa was soaked between the legs and Sandor looked wholly uncomfortable and frustrated with how hard he’d become.

 

_“We’ll stay in here,”_ he’d grumbled as his band mates filed out of the van. They all understood perfectly well the subtext to Sandor’s statement. Bronn winked at them and Beric had laughed wickedly. That’d only been ten minutes ago.

 

Sandor’s touches now were delicate and meant for him to watch how wet he made her. He seemed hell bent on taking his time, though Sansa wasn’t sure how much time they had.

 

“I’ve seen one set of lips wrapped around my cock.” Sandor momentarily pulled his hand from between her legs. His fingers glistened from her wetness and he ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “Now I want to see the other.” His eyes drifted down her faintly heaving chest and then back to her folds and swollen clit that ached to be touched again.

 

Slowly, he eased two fingers inside of her, admiring how easily they slid in and out. Sansa circled her hips again, urging Sandor’s fingers deeper inside and letting out a sharp moan when his thumb brushed her clit. She wanted more. Her mind raced with thoughts of his cock buried inside of her, covered in the same wetness as his fingers. He’d awakened a part of her she’d kept hidden for so long, shameful and embarrassed it even existed, but now the physical want was coupled with an insatiable urge to explore these desires. Sansa cupped her breasts and swept her fingers over her nipples.

 

“I’m starting to have suspicions you only want me in inappropriate places.” She gasped when Sandor added a third finger inside of her, all three in a tight bundle that stretched her further. “The backs of cars and vans, fitting rooms…”

 

“I want you everywhere,” he grumbled, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her neck again. He sucked softly at the hollow space right beneath the edge of her jaw. “I offered to take you back to my place once.”

 

_Did he?_ Sansa scanned her memories of their time together, which was always rife with innuendos and blatant suggestions. _At the diner,_ she remembered. She hadn’t taken him seriously then and assumed he only said those things to watch her blush and squirm.

 

“That was when we first met.” Sansa dipped her head and licked at Sandor’s lips. When she deepened the kiss, he matched her fervor. Her hand slipped towards the front of his unzipped jeans and gave a tug, enough that his hard cock sprung from the confines of his pants. Sansa wrapped her fingers around his shaft and worked her palm up and down in smooth motions. The fingers of Sandor’s right hand still worked between her legs, but he wrapped his other hand around Sansa’s and guided her movements.

 

“Is this what you want?” Sandor groaned and squeezed her hand tighter. He nipped gently at her bottom lip, a subtle demand for an answer.

 

Sansa matched his eyes in a heavy-lidded gaze and nodded. A devilish smile broke across Sandor’s lips and he shifted his eyes to between her legs.

 

“I know it is,” he chuckled darkly. “You’re soaking wet, spreading your legs for me. I’d say you want it. God, I’d love to see you riding my dick right now.”

 

Sansa shifted forward, easing herself towards Sandor until she was straddled on his lap. Pulling her hand away from his cock, her arms draped over his shoulders. Sandor removed his fingers from between her legs and let his hands settle at her hips.

 

In the darkness of the van, she still made out the strong features of his face – sharp jaw, hooked nose, eyes grazing over her nakedness with fond admiration. Though he was certainly rough-around-the-edges, he regarded her with a surprising gentleness. The contrasting qualities only fueled her attraction to him and she surged with want now.

 

Sansa placed slow kisses at Sandor’s neck and cheek before her lips swept softly against his. Curiosity bid her to let her folds brush against his hardness. She grinded gently and felt how Sandor’s body stiffened. His hands gripped her hips tighter and his shoulders went rigid. His eyes narrowed and his mouth contorted with a pleasured groan.

 

With careful movements, Sansa pressed the soaking juncture between her legs against his cock, easing up and down to spread her wetness there. With each pass, Sandor’s chest heaved with increasingly heavy breaths. Sansa slipped one hand to his manhood and rose to her knees. She eased herself down enough that the tip of his cock brushed against her clit. Sansa guided the movements there with steady circular motions. Her knees trembled, ready to buckle until Sandor replaced her hand at his shaft with his own.

 

Sansa gripped his shoulders to steady herself and Sandor continued the circular motions at her clit before gently sliding the tip of his cock against her opening.

 

“Mmm,” Sansa moaned, half a protest, but she eased down just enough that she felt the pressure at her opening. She rotated her hips in swiveling motions, taking a tiny bit of him inside of her. Sandor sucked in a sharp breath, which then exited his lips on a rumbling moan.

 

“Are we doing this here?” he breathed and matched her eyes, appearing both enthralled to the point that his breaths came panting, but also flustered, as if he hadn’t truly thought they’d take it this far in the back seat of the Cannibal Star van.

 

Sansa stilled and chewed her bottom lip as she held his stare. The shamefulness emerged, the prudent part of her screaming from within that this was complete madness. She’d held out on Joffrey for years, the lack of sexual advancement in their relationship a solid sore spot that eventually led to the break. With Sandor, her inhibitions fled and the idea of sex became a demonstration of how much she adored him, rather than a milestone to reach at some arbitrary point.

 

“I want you,” Sansa finally whispered against Sandor’s lips, arms clinging tighter around his shoulders. “But no, not right here.”

 

Ashamed of herself and feeling guilty for having teased him like this, Sansa shifted away from Sandor, lifting one leg in order to remove herself from his lap. His hands gripped firmly at her waist and he tugged her back towards him until Sansa’s naked chest was pressed against him.

 

“That’s fine,” he said with a grin. His fingers brushed through her hair and he placed tender kisses to her lips. “I want to take my time with you, fuck you how I want to. Can’t do that here.”

 

A heat hit Sansa’s cheeks, thrilled at the thought and nervous too. Everything between them seemed to have escalated so quickly and yet she wanted him more than anything else. Both curiosity and desire had come to outweigh any fear or reservation. Sansa smiled and pressed her hands against his chest, propping herself back up as she did so. Sandor sunk his fingers into her hair and yanked gently, exposing the length of her neck. His lips nipped and sucked there before his mouth swept towards her ear.

 

“When I do, you’re going to be a good girl and tell me how much you love it, how badly you want to be fucked.” His voice was a deep rumble, not loud by any means, but no less forceful. He coiled his fingers tighter into her hair. “Isn’t that right?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa sighed with a shudder running through her.

 

Sandor shifted, arms wrapped around the small of Sansa’s back as he rotated towards the empty part of the seat next to them. He eased her towards the far end of the seat, until her back rested against the side of the van. Sansa lifted her arms over her head, only now taking note of the extent of her nakedness. Sitting next to her, Sandor’s hands urged her thighs open until her legs were spread as far as the backseat would allow. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth between her legs.

 

“You’re always such a sweet little thing,” he murmured. His lips worked against her folds, brushing with each soft kiss pressed there.

 

“ _Your_ sweet little thing,” Sansa added and gently lifted her hips to meet his kisses.

 

Sandor pulled away slightly with a wicked smile. “Don’t you forget it,” he said, equal parts threatening and playful as he stared up at her.

 

With that, he turned his head and ran his tongue down the inside of her thigh. With the tip of his tongue, he traced one slow line across her opening and up to her clit where he licked.

 

Sansa’s chest heaved at the sensations rolling through her. Her eyes drifted to Sandor between her legs. Her stared up at her, while his lips and tongue moved in perfect concert.

 

He sucked at her clit before letting his tongue circle her opening. Back and forth, he cycled through the movements before he dipped one finger inside of her and stroked slowly. His tongue lapped at her folds and swept against the sensitive spot that left Sansa panting and moaning. She ground her hips against him and her head fell back against the side of the van. Sandor followed the sound of her heavy sighs and the trembling of her legs draped over his shoulders. He found what drove her wild and sent blinding bursts of pleasure to erupt at her core – the delicious combination of licks and swipes, sucking and stroking.

 

All of it brought her to the brink, certain she couldn’t take much more, but more, she wanted more. She wanted to ride him, wanted him inside of her. She wanted the weight of him on top of her, sliding in and out of her, whispering all the sinfully delightful things in her ear, telling her what he wanted to do to her and then demanding certain things, dominating and consuming. She wanted it all and thought to ask for it; to say, “Fuck it and fuck me,” but the silhouetted movements coming towards the van caught her attention and Sansa gasped loudly, shifting away from Sandor.

 

“They’re coming back!” Sansa frantically tapped against Sandor’s shoulder until he removed himself from between her legs.

 

“Fuck,” he sighed and began tucking himself back into his pants.

 

Sansa snatched up her bra from the floorboard and hastily slipped it on. After smoothing down her skirt and putting her top back in place, she felt around the floor for her underwear. When she looked up, Sandor cracked a devilish smile at her, panties dangling from his finger.

 

“I need those back.” Sansa tried to snatch them quickly from his hand, but Sandor yanked them away. He slipped her panties into the inside pocket of his jacket and laughed brusquely when she pouted.

 

“That’s what you get for being a tease,” he grumbled and slinked his arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer to him. “Besides, I like knowing you’re wet and not wearing any panties.”

 

Sansa felt his breath warm against her lips, the words preceding the kiss he placed there. His hand grazed up her thigh and his middle finger brushed delicately at her slit. He teased her with the lightest of touches until she spread her knees apart, just enough so that her lower lips spread and, when he stroked again, his finger slid inside of her.

 

Harwin flung the door of the van open and climbed in. The rest of Cannibal similarly piled into the van. Sandor removed his hand from underneath Sansa’s skirt and placed it demurely on her knee.

 

“Smells like sex in here,” Thoros commented and swiveled in his seat towards Sansa and Sandor with a raunchy smile plastered to his lips.

 

A flush of heat hit Sansa’s cheeks at once with a deep blush. She lowered her eyes from Thoros and ignored the look Sandor shot her, one that likely savored her timid mortification. Tucked close to his side, Sansa could feel the low rumble of his laughter and the hand at her knee gave a gentle squeeze.

 

The remainder of the ride commenced much as it had before – metal music blaring from the speakers, Harwin easing through riffs on his air guitar, Thoros drumming his fingers against his knees, and Beric belting out the lyrics of the songs. Sansa had never heard of any of this music before and, while she made no fuss about it, she certainly didn’t understand the appeal. Everything sounded shrill to her ears. With his band mates preoccupied, Sandor turned his attention to Sansa.

 

His kisses started at her neck in small nibbles and gentle licks. Slowly, he moved from her neck down to her collarbone, back up and along her jawline, and finally to her lips. He savored each of their kisses, apparently not minding the presence of his band mates. With slow, deliberate movements, his tongue swept against her own.

 

Eventually, the van turned into a gated neighborhood and came to a stop at the end of a long, paved driveway that wound towards a sprawling home. With a frustrated groan, Sandor tore himself away from Sansa, pulling his arm from around her shoulder while Cannibal Star hopped from the van.

 

“Where are we?” Sansa asked. The house rivaled some of the homes in Winnetka in both size and extravagance. Everything looked new and well kept – from the landscaping to the architecture. Of course, the shiny red corvette in the driveway also seemed to suggest whoever lived here didn’t want for much.

 

“This is our manager’s place,” Sandor replied.

 

“Oh,” Sansa nodded and carefully climbed from the far backseat of the van. Bent over, she had no doubts that Sandor was enjoying the view of her naked bottom peeking out from beneath her skirt. Outside the van, Sansa tugged at its hem, almost certain a gust of wind would come at an inopportune moment and reveal her nakedness.

 

Sandor slipped his hand into hers and they made their way towards a large porch framed in tall columns. Without knocking or ringing the bell, Beric flung open the front door of the house like he owned the place and strutted inside. The rest of the Sandor’s band mates followed after him. Sansa found the inside to be just as exquisite as the exterior. The foyer floor was covered entirely in large slabs of marble that held the reflection of a large crystal chandelier hanging from above.

 

Off the foyer to the right, three women had seated themselves in a formal living room. With Cannibal Star’s arrival, all three pushed themselves from the oversized pieces of furniture they’d been lounging on. The far wall of the living area was mirrored and reflected the space of the room – a chaise lounge, a loveseat, and a small couch, all covered in white leather and arranged around the room with a white baby grand piano in the corner.

 

“Hey boys,” a tall woman with teased black hair greeted. An off-the-shoulder leopard print shirt showcased her tattooed arms and bare midriff. She slinked across the room, hips swaying within the skintight confines of her black leather pants. She was pretty, Sansa noticed. In fact, all three of the women were stunning in their own way.

 

The other two – both blondes, though one looked considerably younger, closer to Sansa’s age – fell in next to the woman in the leather pants. With similarly teased hair and heavy make-up, they both smiled coquettishly.

 

“Girls! Looking fine as ever!” Bronn commented, though his eyes continually roved over the older blonde.

 

“We aim to please,” she responded and wiggled her shoulders enough that her breasts jostled in her low-cut dress. That earned her another appreciative glance from Bronn who licked at his bottom lip.

 

Sansa shifted next to Sandor’s side, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling sorely out of place. With a glance at her own outfit, it looked derivative of a Palo Alto valley girl and juvenile in comparison to what the other women were wearing. She was Debbie Gibson to their Lita Ford. Her movements closer to Sandor roused the attention of the black haired woman.

 

“I see you picked one up along the way. Who is this?” Her eyes dazzled with intrigue and she stepped closer, a curious smile forming on her rouged lips.

 

“Sansa,” Sandor announced. “She’s with me.” Sansa clutched his hand tighter, but smiled politely when the woman approached.

 

“Mona,” the black haired lady introduced. “C’mon, darlin’. We’ll keep you company while the men talk shop.” Mona took Sansa’s hand from Sandor before motioning her head towards the large staircase of the foyer.

 

“Jerry’s upstairs in the office,” she informed and gently tugged Sansa towards the living room. The band retreated to the staircase, raucous laughter echoing through the foyer along the way. Eventually, the laughter faded as they headed down the upstairs hall.

 

“This is Lexie.” Mona pointed to the older blonde haired woman in the low-cut pink dress. She gave a small, distracted wave while digging into her purse.

 

“And this is Candy.” The younger blonde smiled sweetly at Sansa and patted the space next to her on the couch.

 

“Ladies, this is Sansa. She’s with the Hound,” Mona announced and resumed her position sprawled out on the chaise lounge.

“Nice to meet you,” Sansa greeted shyly. She seated herself carefully next to Candy and tightly crossed her legs. “Is Jerry the manager?” she asked.

 

“Jerry Vale,” Mona confirmed with a nod and paused briefly as she lit the cigarette pressed between her red lips. “He manages all the metal bands worth their salt,” she continued on an exhale of smoke.

 

Scanning the collective looks on Mona, Lexie, and Candy’s faces, Sansa gathered that she was supposed to be impressed by this bit of information. She hadn’t heard of Jerry Vale before, but feigned a look of understanding, one that left at least Candy and Lexie convinced. Mona flashed a knowing, but kind smile at Sansa.

 

“Are you his wife?” Sansa asked Mona, a question that elicited giggles from Lexie and Candy.

 

“No,” she shook her head and ashed her cigarette in a heavy ashtray next to her. “Have you seen him? He’s short, ugly, and bald.”

 

“He still pulls a lot of tail,” Lexie countered before snatching up a wine glass on the table next to her and taking a long sip.

 

“All thanks to Cannibal Star,” Mona laughed. “Jerry gets the hand-me-downs.” The woman titled her head back, smoke billowing through her pursed lips.

 

“Hand-me-downs?” Sansa repeated, brow folding at the term. She clutched the purse on her lap and felt stupid for asking. She didn’t know who Jerry was and certainly didn’t understand the term, though she could probably guess what it meant.

 

Slumped back in the couch, Candy rotated her head towards Sansa.

 

“The girls that get backstage, but none of the guys are interested in. Those girls end up with managers, the road crew, publicists.”

 

“Oh. So why are you all here?”

 

Sansa winced as soon as the question left her lips. She didn’t mean to imply any of these women were “hand-me-downs” and expected at least one of them might be offended that she’d even suggest – inadvertently or otherwise – that they were. Mona and Lexie both looked nonplussed by the question as both now occupied themselves with the cigarettes they smoked. Candy simply held her vapid smile.

 

“We knew the guys were coming in town,” Mona answered. “We’re not here for Jerry,” she added with a laugh. Sansa laughed along with her, if nothing more than to ease the inexplicable nervousness settling at her belly.

 

“So, you and the Hound?” Mona quirked one eyebrow suggestively at Sansa and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.

 

“What’s he like in bed?” Lexie pressed. “God, I bet he likes it rough,” she speculated, voice like gravel and her words manifesting on something akin to a groan. All three women stared expectantly at Sansa. She lowered her eyes to hands that coiled around the strap of her purse.

 

“I wouldn’t know,” she admitted quietly and with a shrug.

 

“Honey, you haven’t fucked him yet?” Mona asked incredulously.

 

“No,” Sansa shook her head and steadied her gaze towards Mona. The woman narrowed her eyes at Sansa, not unkindly, but still it seemed she didn’t believe her or, in the very least, something didn’t add up in Mona’s mind.

 

“We’re taking our time,” Sansa explained. “We’ve only been on a few dates.”

 

“Dates?” Lexie all but reeled and the confusion around the room grew, befuddled looks remaining on all the women’s faces.

 

“So this is something different.” Mona shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

 

“Are you with the guys?” Sansa ventured, eyes drifting to each woman. While it’d been made clear they weren’t “hand-me-downs”, Sansa didn’t understand how exactly they fit into Cannibal Star’s world.

 

“I’ve been with Bronn, Beric, and Thoros. Bronn’s my go-to, though” Lexie answered and then shifted a glance to Mona who replied next.

 

“All, but Sandor.”

 

“Just Harwin,” Candy announced with evident pride and a widening smile. “Actually, I think I gave Bronn head once on the way to a Seattle gig.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought about that last bit, as if she couldn’t quite remember.

 

The answers still left Sansa confused. She chewed her lip and cast another glance around the room.

 

“Are you their girlfriends?”

 

“Girlfriends?” Mona repeated and abruptly shook her head. “No. Those boys don’t usually bed down with one chick. They can’t. They’re on the road most of the time. I have a full-time job and my own life. I’m not going to throw that all away to follow them on tour.” She paused momentarily and looked at Candy. “No offense, sweetie. When they’re in town, I show them a good time. Works me, works for them, everyone’s happy.”

 

_Are they happy, though?_ Sansa wondered. They certainly looked it, at least for now, but what about later? When the men were gone and they were alone again, would they be happy then? Sansa nodded, as if she understood, but the concept seemed troubling and unnatural to her, and Mona’s answer succeeded only in tightening the knot in Sansa’s belly.

 

“I stay here while I finish school,” Lexie began. “Bronn goes out on the road. We have an _understanding_.” The emphasis on the last word intimated the meaning. Sansa knew what Lexie was getting at, but could do little to stop the faint look of shock surfacing on her face.

 

“Look, the tours are long,” Lexie asserted. “They don’t come home much and when they do, they’re beat. I know he fucks other women on the road. He wears protection and I don’t ask about it. Out of sight, out of mind. My only stipulation is that when he’s in town, he only fucks me.”

 

The room went silent as the women quietly evaluated Sansa’s reaction. Under the heaviness of their curious stares, Sansa let out a nervous giggle and turned to Candy.

 

“What about you and Harwin? It sounds like you two are together.”

 

Sansa cringed at the sheer optimism of her words and immediately understood how incongruent the sentiment was within the context of this conversation. Still, she smiled at Candy, hoping that perhaps her situation wasn’t so unconventional as the others.

 

“About a year ago, I went to a Cannibal Star show in Phoenix,” Candy began. “Harwin invited me on the tour bus and asked if I wanted to come with them to Santa Fe. So I did. I traveled with them around the west coast for a month while they wrapped up their tour. Afterwards, I got a job in Chicago so I could be closer to him in between tours.”

 

Given her pleasant countenance and nonchalance, Candy didn’t appear miffed by her situation. Sansa willed her smile to remain, though she felt the pity for Candy swell up within her.

 

“What do you do for a living?” Sansa asked.

 

“I’m an exotic entertainer,” Candy informed proudly, an attempt to brace herself for whatever judgment Sansa might throw at her.

 

“I see,” Sansa nodded. _It’s rude to be judgmental,_ she quickly reminded herself. Her mother always told her to add a polite follow-on question in situations like this, a way to tame any awkwardness and reassure the other party that no judgment had been passed. “What’s your favorite part of the job?” she asked.

 

“Hmm,” Candy hummed in thought. “I guess it makes me feel sexy and empowered,” she shrugged and her answer sounded uncertain, as though she hadn’t ever thought much about it and had never been asked either.

 

Across the room, Mona pushed herself from the chaise and shuffled towards the piano where an uncorked bottle of wine sat.

 

“Have you ever dated a musician before?” she asked as she refilled her empty wine glass.

 

“No,” Sansa shook her head.

 

“I figured as much.” Mona winked at Sansa and eased herself down into the chaise with a heavy sigh. “You seem like a nice girl, Sansa. Save yourself the heartache and let Sandor know what your boundaries are. Whatever it is you expect from him, put it out on the table in clear terms. He may not agree to those terms, but at least you were upfront from the start.”

 

The sudden advice caught Sansa off guard. She hadn’t truly given any of this much thought. It all seemed rather simple: they liked each other, they went on dates, and eventually he’d become her boyfriend. Wasn’t that how it worked? Looking around the room, Sansa quickly understood that the rules had been rewritten. Nothing here seemed to work as it normally would.  

 

“That makes sense,” Sansa agreed, but her throat felt hoarse and dry. She averted her eyes to her lap again.

 

“Don’t expect much from him outside of the bedroom,” Lexie offered sincerely, though Sansa couldn’t quite stomach any more well-intentioned advice she hadn’t asked for.

 

“They’re sweet, but they’re still men,” Candy chimed in and lifted both brows at Sansa, as if her vague statement should illuminated everything.

 

“Men with pussy being thrown at them left and right from beautiful women,” Mona added with a loud laugh.

 

All three of the women then laughed at the same time, as if they all understood the same inside joke. It seemed to Sansa, though, that the joke was at _their_ expense and the price was a broken heart. Perhaps Mona and even Lexie felt in control of their arrangement with certain Cannibal Star members, but clearly Candy was simply along for the ride. She seemed to harbor feelings for Harwin and probably hoped that one day her set-up with him would pay off; that he’d realize what a catch she was and commit to her.

 

Sansa didn’t join in on the laughter and couldn’t stop the frown that formed on her lips.

 

Was that what would happen with Sandor? Would he go on the road and expect her to agree to _his_ terms, whatever those were? The thought left an empty ache in her chest. The women in the room were nice and meant well, but Sansa couldn’t imagine herself happy in any of their situations.

 

“Is there a bathroom around here?” she asked after the laughter waned.

 

“It’s the last door on the right,” Mona said and motioned her head towards a hallway extending off the foyer.

 

Sansa stood from her seat and gave a polite smile before leaving the room. The foyer carried the faint echo of the women whispering as Sansa made her way towards the hallway.

 

_They think I’m naïve,_ she concluded. _And maybe I am._

In contrast to the foyer, the bathroom was bedecked in black marble that covered the floor and walls. Sansa set her purse on the back of the toilet. She turned on sink’s gold faucet and let the water run over her hands. She lifted her eyes to the mirror and studied her reflection. She looked nothing like the women in the other room. She didn’t wear heavy make-up and her hair wasn’t teased. When she left home in a crop top and mini-skirt, Sansa had been convinced her outfit was scandalous and borderline inappropriate. Now, it looked like child’s play in comparison to what the other women had on.

 

Sansa turned off the sink and dried her hands with a towel hanging on the adjacent wall. With her shoulders thrown back, she paid herself another look in the mirror without the burden of comparison. _I’m a catch,_ she thought and smiled. _Smart, and sweet, and loyal._

 

Still, that didn’t change the reality that Sandor was in a metal band, one that apparently garnered a lot of attention from women and meant his lifestyle would put him on the road, away from home and traveling for large amounts of time. Sansa watched her smile fade in the mirror. Maybe Sandor thought Sansa understood, that their arrangement was implicit. They’d never talked about where this was going. Whatever they were, it wasn’t bound to be normal or to follow the typical set of dating rules. She understood now what Mona meant about establishing expectations and boundaries.

 

Sansa emerged from the bathroom and heard Mona’s laughter drifting from the living room. She stood in the darkened hall, contemplating whether she should go back to where the women were. She found herself caught between two worlds – dissatisfied with the haughty snobbery of her sorority sisters and appalled at the uninhibited acceptance of moral ambiguity that the ladies in the living room favored.

 

_I don’t belong to either,_ Sansa thought and wandered further down the hall towards the room at the end. A small lamp had been left on in there and Sansa found herself in a mostly empty space. A Victorian-style tufted loveseat sat against the far wall with the lamp next to it. Along the walls, framed platinum and gold records hung in rows. Slowly walking the perimeter of the room, Sansa read the band names associated with each record. Most were Cannibal Star, a few from other well-known bands, and a handful were from bands she’d never heard of before.

 

“What are you doing in here?” Sandor’s voice suddenly sounded from behind her.

 

Sansa spun around and found him leaning against the doorframe with a smile on his lips. His eyes slowly drifted up and down her form, roving over her curves and her bare waist before finally settling on her breasts.

 

He pushed himself from the doorframe and paced towards her with deliberate steps. When he reached her, Sandor grabbed Sansa by the waist and yanked her towards him. Dipping his head towards her, he almost captured her lips in an intended kiss, but Sansa lowered her head in the space between them. Gently, she pulled away from Sandor, taking a step backwards and letting her eyes fall to the floor. She could feel him staring at her, confused by her sudden rebuff of his affection.

 

“Sansa, I don’t read minds,” Sandor said with obvious frustration. “What’s going on?”

 

_Play it cool. Not now._ Sansa met his insistent stare and tried to feign a smile, but the words bubbled up uncontrollably, bursting through her lips before she could stop them.

 

“I really like you, but I don’t know how this is going to work. I’m not like Lexie and Mona. I’m not going to stay here and just have an _understanding_ when you’re on tour. I’m not like Candy. I’m not going to follow you around the country just so you won’t sleep with other women.”

 

The words must’ve come out all in one long, frantic breath. Sansa found herself nearly heaving by the end of it. Her hands trembled so she folded her arms across her chest and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

 

She watched Sandor’s jaw tense and his Adam’s apple move with a heavy swallow, appearing entirely uncomfortable with the conversation that’d hardly started. He shook his head and let out an exasperated laugh, though it did nothing to lighten the mood. It sounded mocking to Sansa’s ears and she steeled herself for whatever it was he had to say.

 

“I know you’re not like them,” he told her.

 

She probably should’ve been satisfied with that, but more words found their way from Sansa’s lips, words she swore she would keep in check.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me. If its just sex while you’re in town…”

 

Though weak and timid to begin with, her voice waned to nothingness, tapering off with an incomplete thought. If he just wanted sex, then what? Sansa thought she’d been clear about the “then what” part of it. Perhaps her wonton behavior earlier in the evening had given him the wrong impression. She pulled her arms tighter against her chest and tipped her chin up towards him so she could match his eyes.

 

“We already had this conversation.” He kept his voice down, but Sansa saw the agitation stirring within his countenance and edging his words. She knew he could be crude, but not like this, not defensive and cross. “I told you I want more from you than just to get laid.”

 

Sansa lowered her eyes and sealed her lips shut lest more words flew from her mouth and irritated him further. _This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought it up._

 

“Is this because I said I want to fuck you?” Sandor demanded. “Or was it something those twats told you?”

 

When Sansa lifted her eyes, she met his insistent stare, but merely shrugged uncertainly. At the time, Mona’s advice seemed solid. Now, Sansa felt ridiculous for having brought it up in such a manner, effectively cornering him with accusatory assertions.

 

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Sandor grumbled and Sansa wondered if he meant to say it out loud. “Not with them hanging around,” he added, but his words still stung. Sansa drew in a sharp breath.

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she nodded. “It’s late. You should take me home.”

 

Her voice waivered and the lump in her throat burned. _I won’t cry,_ she decided, but the tears clung to the corners of her eyes and, when she lowered her gaze to the floor, the tears broke free.

 

“What is it that you need?” Sandor asked softer than before. He crossed the room and sat at the edge of the loveseat. Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradled his forehead in the palm of one hand. “Commitment? Is that what you want?”

 

He sounded fatigued now more than angry, at a loss and confounded by the evening’s turn of events.

 

“Eventually,” Sansa answered. “We’ve only been on a few dates.”

 

“Who the fuck cares? I’m not keeping tabs on that,” Sandor sighed, head still in his hand. “Commitment. You want me to nail you down, am I right?”

 

Mouth agape, Sansa narrowed her eyes at Sandor, though he could not see.

 

“Don’t mock me!” she seethed with her own anger. Her fingers curled towards her palm and she pursed her lips. Sandor lifted his head from his palm to look at her. He stared at her momentarily before a sudden smile bloomed across his lips and he chuckled.

 

“I’m not mocking you, Sansa,” he continued, still laughing. He lurched forward and encircled his arms around her hips. He settled back against the loveseat, pulling Sansa onto his lap in the process.

 

“I want to know. Is that what you want?” he asked again as Sansa squirmed within his hold.

 

“Stop it!” she insisted, her cheeks flushing red. Her palms pressed against his chest to push him away.

 

“Not until you tell me.” With a devilish smile, Sandor tightened his hold on her. One arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other across her lap until she was wedged against him and unable to move. Sansa wiggled to urge her release, but the effort was futile.

 

“Yes,” Sansa huffed with a pout and settled in his arms. “Is that what you want?”

 

“Of course,” he said as if any notion suggesting otherwise was ridiculous. “You’re fucking cute when you’re angry,” he added with a grin. Sandor lifted the arm from her lap and cupped her cheek. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to hers and slowly parted her lips with his tongue. With her anger dissipating, Sansa surrendered to the kiss. When she finally pulled away, Sansa sat up and repositioned herself on his lap. Straddling him, she rested her hands against his chest.

 

“Have you been in a relationship before?” she asked.

 

“Once,” Sandor answered with a nod as his hands smoothed up and down her back.

 

“How long was it?” Sansa wasn’t sure if she truly wanted to know. While pleased Sandor wasn’t entirely inexperienced in relationships, the thought of him with another elicited small pangs of jealously.

 

“Three years,” he told her and settled his hands around Sansa’s waist. “She knew me before Cannibal Star got signed.”

 

“Why’d you break up?” Sansa ventured carefully. Perhaps this was another sore topic for Sandor, something he’d rather not discuss. His face remained impassible as he gave a shrug.

 

“It just got too hard. Me being on the road, girls being around. She didn’t trust that I wouldn’t slip up. I never did and I never wanted to. Didn’t matter, though. It still fell apart.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered, uncertain of what else to say so her eyes drifted to her hands resting against his chest.

 

“Don’t be. I’m not.” Sandor leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her lips, unhurried and sweet.

 

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered against his mouth. “I don’t want you to sleep with other women, not that I think you would. It’s just…that’s my boundary. No cheating.”

 

“That’s a given,” Sandor agreed. “Look, I don’t want to see other women,” he murmured in the small space between them. “My band mates do it, but it’s never been my thing. I only want you. I don’t care how hard things get. I’ll bust my ass to keep you, little bird, but I need you to trust me. That’s the only way this thing is going to work.”

 

The tips of his fingers traced over her collarbone in soft, sweeping motions.

 

“So you and me – what do you say?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stared at her.

 

“Yeah,” Sansa nodded with a smile before settling her head on his shoulder. Sandor held her tightly against his chest and kissed her forehead.

A moment later, the sound of knuckles rapping against the doorframe roused their attention. Sansa sat up and turned to find Thoros standing in the doorway.

 

“Hey, sorry,” he apologized. “You guys ready to go? Bronn and Harwin are staying behind.”

 

“Yeah,” Sandor nodded. “We’ll meet you outside.”

 

When Thoros disappeared back into the hall, Sansa removed herself from Sandor’s lap and gathered up her purse.

 

“We’ll be passing through Winnetka. We can drop you at your place,” Sandor offered.

 

Though Sansa forced a smile and a dull nod, both came crestfallen and with the weighty acknowledgment of what she’d have to face when she got home. She’d already exceeded the shelf life of Arya’s lie; whatever it was, it couldn’t have bought her this much time. Sansa felt Sandor’s hand encircle her wrist and he pulled her towards him.

 

“Or if you wanted to avoid any Papa Stark lectures tonight, you could come home with me. It’d be nice to have you in my bed tonight and wake up to you in the morning. I’ll make you breakfast and take you to school.”

 

Sansa stared up at him. His proposition came sincerely, but the uncertainty lingered, as though he’d been momentarily afflicted with the worry that she might decline. She understood then something she hadn’t considered – that Sandor had invested his heart in her too. All the lascivious remarks and the seeming precedent on sex masked something more that’d begun to develop and Sansa could see it in him now as plain as day.

 

“I’d love that,” she smiled and rose to her toes to sweep her lips against his cheek. “I guess it’s about time I finally see your place anyhow.”

 

“You guess right,” he quipped with a rough laugh and took her hand, his fingers intertwined with her own.

 

Sandor led the way down the hall and through the foyer. Mona, Lexie, and Candy gathered near the front door to see Thoros and Beric off while Bronn and Harwin descended on another bottle of wine in the living room.

 

“Excuse me,” Sandor grumbled and began towards the door, shouldering past Mona with Sansa’s hand still secure in his own.

 

“You two can stay.” Mona lifted one brow and cast a pointed look at Sandor. Sansa didn’t fully understand the implicit suggestion, but noticed how Sandor grimaced and glowered at the woman.

 

“Nope. My _girlfriend_ and I are going home.” Sandor squeezed Sansa’s hand and pulled her closer to him.

 

“My mistake,” Mona acquiesced with a fading smile and her eyes flickered over Sansa. “Moving up in the world, I see,” she added with a wink.

 

At that, Sandor stepped out onto the porch and led Sansa towards the van.

 

“Stay away from that one,” he cautioned. “She’s no good.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual, thank you all so much for your patience between updates and for all the love surrounding this story! It means a lot to me :) I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are most welcome and appreciated :) 
> 
> I don't know how long this one will be, but I know it won't be as lengthy or heavy as Gods and Monsters. I plan to keep it light and frivolous.


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